A Childhood's Consequences
by Juishy Jay
Summary: In a world where Harry Potter grows up in Surrey, but not under the roof of Privet Drive Number 4, his best friends are ruffians, and he is considered by many to be a scoundrel, Harry Potter puts on the Sorting Hat and everyone realizes that the Boy-Who-Lived is not what any of them ever expected; far from it even. Disclaimer: I own no character! That's JK! Year One! NOW COMPLETED!
1. A Child Will Do

**Welcome to Childhood's Consequences! This is just a disclaimer that any character you might recognize is obviously not my creation**—**but that of the brilliant J.K Rowling. This is part one in a seven book series; I won't be posting any chapters on a book that I haven't completed yet. This one is completed, I just need to post all 27 chapters, which I'll be doing in the few days!  
****Also, don't hesitate to drop a review with your thoughts on a chapter! I'm very proud of what I've managed to put together here with this story, so I'd love to here your input on it! I could most assuredly use a Beta-reader, as well, and someone to throw ideas at, so if you feel called to fulfill such a role, please send me a PM and I'll get back to you ASAP! **

**ENJOY THE STORY!**

* * *

Arabella Figg dug into her back pocket and retrieved a tissue, just in time to cover her nose as a sneeze caught up with her. "Bloody hell!" She'd been holding that one in since early that morning.

She stifled a yawn and glanced up.

The service was drawing to an end, the congregation slowly getting to their feet as the pastor called for them to lock hands and recite the grace.

She slowly pushed to her feet and spread her arms out, but her neighbours staunchly refused to take her hands. Obviously, they'd witnessed her sneeze.

Arabella sighed.

The service was over and people began milling about to chat. The latest sport news was exchanged among the lads, the ladies discussed the latest social scandals, furiously whispering their personal opinions and adding their own twist to it.

Within minutes, Arabella stood alone in the dome that their church congregated in, head bowed, as all around groups formed and socialized.

Arabella sighed and trudged up to Minister Paul's office. Hopefully, he had a few moments to pray for her; he hadn't, ever, in her six months attending this particular church but maybe—just maybe—today, he'd have an opening for a brief appointment.

There were quite a few people gathered outside the office, and Arabella decided to throw in the white towel. Even if Minister Paul by some miraculous divine intervention did have some time, there was no way she was going to be the recipient of Minister Paul's attention.

Her car was thankfully parked not too far off the front of the parking lot so Arabella didn't have a whole lot of walking to do. She was set to turn forty-five next month and didn't quite fancy a whole hike just to get to her car.

Thoughts of her age kept her occupied the whole quarter-hour ride back to Little Whinging.

At forty-five, she was quickly running out of time to conceive a child. In fact, that was why she wanted to have Minister Paul pray for her.

She sighed as her thoughts segued to her husband. He'd died just a year into their marriage. Cancer! The pain, the shock—it had remained with Arabella for a long while. In fact, she'd only just recently managed to emerge from the fog of depression that had been upon her life since the death of her husband. It had been fifteen years already.

Arabella sighed as she turned into Little Whinging. She was quickly approaching a whole year living here and quite honestly, she wasn't sure she was going to be staying for much longer.

It was a far cry from London—where she'd lived with her husband—incredibly quiet and filled with gossipy busy-body types. It grated on her nerves.

It made her loins yearn for a child, someone to brighten her world, give it some sort of meaning, direction. Her kneazle business had fulfilled that purpose in the beginning, but there was no denying: kneazles couldn't be mistaken for humans! It didn't work, even if you named them all, imagined their meowing to be the crying of a child, yearning for it's mother's attention.

Arabella turned into Wisteria Walk. She quickly debated if she should stop at the corner shop but quickly discarded that idea. She didn't need anything from the store and in all honesty, the corner store had some obscene prices but considering it was the only store in the area for quite a stretch, Arabella did suppose she could see the logic in there.

Her kneazle breeding business allowed her quite a few luxuries, spending needlessly wasn't one of them, however; especially considering she'd gone shopping just a couple of days ago, herself.

Arabella expertly parked her car and made her way into 13 Wisteria Walk.

Maurice perked up at the sound of the door opening and meowed at her. The others continued to doze off, not the least bit interested at their owner's return.

Maurice approached her, dancing through her legs and Arabella bent down to give her favourite kneazle a little embrace. Maurice meowed in content.

With Maurice in her hands, Arabella approached her two-seater couch in the living room, easily bypassing the immaculate kitchen, and turned on her TV.

She awoke from her slumber a couple of hours later, without Maurice in her hands.

Her cats were hungry, so Arabella quickly filled up their bowls with some cat food. They dug in happily and Arabella watched them devour their food with a content beam.

A couple of hours later, late in the evening, Arabella morosely turned off her TV. Her cats meowed at her in anger, apparently they'd been enjoying the show, even if she hadn't been—in the slightest.

She was bored out of her brains.

She pushed to her feet and up to her room in search of a nightgown. Maybe a walk would help cheer her up, she thought.

Little Whinging was rather chilly that night, which was odd. August was supposed to kick off tomorrow, one would expect a balmy wind, not this autumn type of wind they were experiencing.

Arabella decided to head over to her neighbour at Number Six, the Smiths. She hadn't seen them all summer, they'd been in Spain, after all, but they should've returned by now already.

They weren't home, unfortunately, and Arabella slumped in disappointment. They were good people, the Smiths—they almost single-handedly kept her kneazle business afloat—and they had a lovely daughter, Lisa Smith, that Arabella simply adored.

She turned around and decided to hit the corner store for a pack of cigarettes—they'd make her feel better at the very least.

The cashier raised a rather judgemental brow at her as she took in the three bottles of vodka and the pack of cigarettes she'd laid across her counter. "Some party, huh?" The woman—Elizabeth, according to her name-tag—asked her.

Arabella gave a cool nod. Elizabeth seemed to get the hint and quickly run the goods and announced how much Arabella owed her. Arabella dug into her purse and paid up without any sort of fuss.

Arabella made sure to put in a decent gap between herself and the store before she took her first puff of her cigarette. She turned into Privet Drive rather sluggishly, and felt herself consumed by the giggles as she took a slug of her vodka.

A wave of laughter, accompanied by a rather chilling growl, and insistent barking quelled her own laughter.

The laughter didn't stop and neither did the barking. Arabella flicked her cigarette away and quietly approached the commotion, wondering just what in the blazes could be going on.

She felt her breath hitch as she came across 4 Privet Drive. A scene of pure horror met her eyes.

A family had gathered around a tree outside of 4 Privet Drive with a dog barking up a tree, laughing uproariously. It was what was going on within the tree, actually, that filled Arabella with anger.

A boy—a rather thin, small boy—was furiously scratching up the tree, whimpering as he tried to drag himself away from the dog barking beneath the tree. He wasn't doing too well, and the sounds of despair he made as his body gave out on him and his small frame slowly got closer to the dog's barking filled Arabella with sadness she hadn't felt since her husband had died.

"OI!" she screamed.

It had the desired effect: all eyeballs turned her way. Even the dog stopped barking and fixed with her with a look that conveyed that it was less than pleased, slobber falling from it's mouth.

As Arabella got closer, she realized just who she'd come across: the Dursleys. Really, though, it should've been obvious; they were the ones who lived within 4 Privet Drive. Almost everybody in Little Whinging knew about the Dursleys.

"Just what the bloody hell is going on here?" she demanded.

Her voice carried over, and immediately lights blared on from the houses nearby. She was hardly the only one who noticed; Petunia—one of the skinniest women Arabella had ever laid eyes upon—and Vernon—perhaps the fattest bloke she'd ever seen—narrowed their eyes and looked about nervously.

A rather large woman that had a particular resemblance to Vernon stepped forward and gave Arabella a rather intimidating sneer. "None of your business, you old busy-body hag; why don't you go back to whatever hole you crawled out of?"

Arabella placed her alcohol behind her, rather self-consciously, and stuffed her pack of cigarettes into her pocket, and lifted her head up, refusing to be cowed.

"I wonder what the bobbies would think of this little scene right here."

The Vernon-look alike gasped and took a step forward, as if to make a grab at Arabella but Petunia and Vernon quickly wrapped their arms around her and quickly snuffed out her fidgeting, quelling her with soothing words.

Vernon turned to face her, plastering a false, simpering smile across his face that actually looked to be hurting him. "Would you like to come inside, Mrs.?"

Arabella smiled. "Figg and yes, gladly."

The Dursleys had a picture-perfect house. At least from what Arabella observed from the couch Vernon had graciously offered her as Petunia fixed up a cup of tea.

The living room was decorated in pastel colours, there was a boarded-up fireplace, in front of which sat an electric fire. The kitchen, she'd seen on her way to the living room, was filled with spotless modern top-of-the-range appliances—the likes of which Arabella knew she couldn't afford—and was white and a garish pink in colour. It was immaculately clean, and Arabella couldn't help but feel self-conscious about her own home, littered with cat fur, food and droppings.

This family was very obviously extremely well-off.

"Your tea."

Arabella accepted it and took a tentative sip. She suppressed a gasp at how warm it was but it didn't quite escape the small, beady eyes of the Vernon-look-alike.

"Well then, Mrs. Figg," Vernon began, leaning forward from his couch. "What seems to be the issue here?"

Arabella blinked at him, very much thrown off. "You terrorized a child with that dog and you're asking me just what the issue here happens to be?"

Vernon winced, but his wife just frowned and folded her arms. Vernon's look-alike stormed to her feet. "Now, look just here—"

"Marge!" Vernon cut her off. Ah, so that was her name. Marge looked furious, her face turning an alarming purple, and none looked more concerned than the little thin boy, standing with Dursley Jr. behind the sofa.

"Well, yes—"

"What's your name?" Arabella asked him.

The boy looked around, trying to make sure her question wasn't directed at anyone else but himself before answering. He opened his mouth to answer before clamming up as the Dursleys fixed him with some rather fierce glares. The boy shrunk and shook his head at her.

Petunia cleared her throat. "He has some mental issue, I'm afraid—the result of a car-crash when he was young that his parents didn't survive and we've been taken care of him ever since."

The boy hung his words and muttered something unintelligible under his breath and Dursley Jr whacked him about the head. The boy bit his lip and whimpered.

"A mental issue?" Her scepticism should've been clear to hear.

The Dursleys, however, nodded eagerly back at her.

Arabella sighed. "Mrs. Dursley—"

"Call me Petunia, dear!"

Arabella shrugged. "Petunia, then; if you think I'm going to believe such codswallop, then you lot are the ones with the mental issue!"

Vernon flushed just as purple as Marge. "Now, see here, Mrs—"

"I'm calling the police for abuse!" Arabella dug out her phone.

"Well, now, see here!" Vernon pushed to his feet, hands raised up in a picture of innocence and behind him, his family mirrored his actions. "That's really not necessary, now, d'you think? What d'you want, Mrs? Money? We've got plenty!"

Arabella snorted. "I don't want your filthy money! Come here, dearie!" she said softly. "Come on," she encouraged when she noticed that her command had little effect.

Third time proved to be the charm and the boy was in her arms, full of nervous energy. Arabella run her hands through his messy hair and the boy stiffened; Arabella narrowed her eyes at the Dursleys, who shrunk back from her.

Arabella turned towards the boy and squatted before him, electing to treat him like one of her Kneazles; they always responded better in the beginning when you came down to their level. He had the greenest eyes she'd ever seen, staring back at her through a taped pair of round glasses that had obviously been broken on several occasions.

"I'm Arabella Figg; d'you want to tell me who you are?"

The boy gulped and tried to look at the Dursleys, apparently afraid he'd say something he wasn't quite supposed to. Arabella stopped him from getting a glance at the Dursleys with her palm on his cheek.

"Your name...?" she implored him softly.

"Harry..." he responded, maybe ever softer than she'd asked.

Arabella beamed at the boy. That almost sounded like her husband's name: Harrison Frank Gerrard. "So Harry Dursley then...?" she said uncertainly. She doubted it; after all, Petunia claimed she'd taken in the boy or some other rubbish.

The boy shook his head furiously, like the thought of sharing a last name with these whales was incredibly detestable. "No, not Dursley; freaks can never be Dursleys! I'm Harry Potter! Harry James Potter!"

Arabella nodded. "Now, Harry, do you like living here? You can tell me, you know—they can't hurt you anymore!"

Harry squirmed and gave a weak shake of his head. "No," he stuttered out. "They treat me alright, honest!" He even went on ahead and added a rather convincing smile.

Arabella raised a disbelieving eyebrow and turned back to the Dursleys, who looked properly bolstered by this turn of events.

She desperately wanted to call the police and announce what she'd stumbled upon. Just if she did call the cops, there was no way they'd allow her to keep the boy. Her criminal record as a young adult meant she had no chance of being able to adopt any child.

"I'm calling the bobbies!" she announced, deciding that even if she didn't get the boy, Harry deserved better than these abusing whales.

"No!" the Dursleys protested.

What stilled Arabella was the soft weight that embraced her. "No, please don't!" Tears glistened from Harry's eyes and Arabella paused.

Was she reading this situation wrong?

But the Dursleys were quite obviously very panicked at the idea of police intervention. There had to be something they were hiding.

"Harry, can you tell me quite honestly that you're happy here?"

Harry gulped and then hung his head. "I thought so!" Arabella said with relish as turned her mobile phone around.

"It's not that bad, really—I mean... I mean, yeah, I'd like... like some more food, and like my own clothes—"

Arabella flushed as she realized that the clothes Harry had on were several sizes too big and certainly didn't fit him that well, at all.

"But, I'm seven years old and I'm still alive; that's something, right?"

Arabella felt her jaw drop.

She was definitely calling the police. To think this thin... well, pencil, really, was seven years old. God only knew what horrors he'd gone through. Malnourished was a given but Arabella had a niggling feeling that it went far deeper than that.

"If you're so concerned about him, why don't you just go on ahead and just take him, then? Take him off our hands, so to speak? I assure you, we'll be glad to wash our hands off of him!"

That gave Arabella pause.

She glanced down at Harry, only to see the widest eyes staring back at her with such hope that the decision was made right then and there.


	2. One Last Dance

Harry Potter snorted to himself as he coolly pocketed the golden watch he'd just nicked.

He made sure not to make any sharp changes to his walking pace. The last thing he needed was more attention on him. A ten year-old boy walking about London late in the night raised more than a few eyebrows on it's own.

The Tube was packed, which was to be expected, considering it was rush hour. Harry made his way to the restroom, where he knew Simon was waiting for him.

"Got it?"

Harry grinned and dug out the golden pocket. "Good job, kid."

Harry scowled as the weedy teen messed up his hair. "Got my money?"

Simon chuckled and lit up a cigaratte. He blew quite a puff in Harry's face and Harry made sure to plaster on a smile, and remind himself that he was just ten years old and even though shite like this was unfair, there wasn't fuck all he could actually do about it.

Simon dug within his tracksuit and tossed a wad of cash at Harry. "Enjoy that; and tell Lisa to give me a call, would you?"

"You ain't paying me for that!"

Simon gave Harry a look and he sighed. He nodded and turned around, making his way to a train that'd take him back to 13 Wisteria Walk. He really hoped Figg wasn't getting too worried. He hated making her worry.

Harry quickly took a seat on the right train and allowed a smile to grace his face as he thought about how his life had changed since his seventh birthday.

It had gotten off to a proper shite start, of course: Marge Dursley had been present, with her godforsaken dog, Ripper. Harry had been holed up in the kitchen the whole morning, making sure the Dursleys had a constant stream of food coming their way. After that, Harry had been giving a plate of bacon and one pancake before being detained to his cupboard.

He'd been let out a couple of hours later to begin on dinner. After dinner, the festivities had began: Harry-hunting! The family cheered Dudley on as he chased Harry around the house, as Harry desperately tried to evade him. He had to watch out for Aunt Marge, as well, who would take a swing at him with her cane every time he came somewhat close to her.

Harry had eventually been cornered between Aunt Marge, Dudley and the front door. He'd chosen to flee outside, and Aunt Marge had let her dog, Ripper, loose on Harry. He'd run up the tree—seriously fearing for his life—and that was just about when Figg had shown up.

Harry smiled at her indignation.

It was his best birthday, to this very day.

Since then, he lived with Figg at 13 Wisteria Walk; his official residence remained 4 Privet Drive—something Figg always said was "a necessary evil." It was one of the few things about life at 13 Wisteria Walk that bothered Harry.

There was also the fact that Harry still had to tolerate Dudley and his gang at school—but that was becoming less and less of an issue.

Harry had power, see—and he could even control it.

It had started not too long after he'd moved in with Figg; they were at recess at school, and Dudley and his gang had been chasing after Harry, who quickly found himself cornered.

His "powers" had made their first appearance then, propelling Harry to the rooftop. Ever since then, attacking Harry was generally considered a bad idea as the results were frequently far from good.

That—and Harry had some rather dodgy contacts that made everybody edgy, quite frankly.

Harry chuckled as the train came to a stop.

He drew his hood over his head, hoping to discourage people from paying particular attention to him. It seemed exaggerated but Lisa always made sure to remind him that most people considered his emerald green eyes incredibly striking, especially now that they weren't behind those hideous glasses the Dursleys made him wear. And his scar was rather conspicuous, as well; in fact, most discussions with strangers on the street began either because of his scar or his eyes.

Harry didn't particularly mind, Lisa just said it could be his doom one day. Harry wasn't really fretting, he wasn't the one involved with a gang, after all, and at the end of the day, he didn't have all too much of a reason to fear the bobbies.

Most of the arguments Harry had with Lisa was about that.

Harry took off his hoodie as he entered Little Whinging. Parents sniffed at him, and gathered their children close as he passed and Harry bared his teeth, giggling as the parents shrieked in fright.

He had just a bit of a reputation, thanks to the Dursleys. Of course, Harry didn't do a whole lot to dissuade the rumours; they had a strong basis in the truth, after all.

It was suspiciously quiet around Little Whinging, Harry thought.

Lisa was throwing a huge party at her place, and she'd invited everybody that was anybody in Surrey. It was a cover, though—for this huge drug deal that she wanted to have go down.

Lisa was talking about paying her university tuition with it if all went to plan. Normally, that wouldn't have been a problem but with Lisa's father coming down with a serious heart problem a couple of years ago, a whole lot of the family's money was going into keeping Mr. Smith alive.

Harry really didn't know just why Lisa demanded he be at this party, anyways. He suspected it was because of his "powers" but every time he probed, Lisa just laughed him off with a ruffle of his notoriously messy hair.

Even the park off of Magnolia Road was empty, which was properly out-of-character. Bilius, one of Harry's best friends, wasn't there—a most queer happening, considering Bilius lived but a minute away from the park. The swings were still, as well, which meant they hadn't been used in a while. Harry felt himself frowning as he approached Bilius's home and rasped his knuckles upon the door.

"Yes?!" Mrs. Freeman had never been taken with Harry.

"Good evening, Mrs. Freeman; is Bilius in there?" He made sure to smile a dashing smile. Lisa said Harry was capable of charming any cold heart.

"No!" And then she slammed the door in his face.

Harry blinked at her rudeness in shock for a couple of moments. "Guess she doesn't have a heart, then." Harry snorted to himself.

Figg pulled open the door just seconds after Harry rang the bell. "Harry, thank God!" She pulled him in for an embrace and Harry weakly embraced her back.

"I'm fine, Figg!"

"I've been worried sick; what did I tell you about going out without telling me?" She was giving him that "stern-look" that Harry knew she couldn't hold all too long.

"I went to visit Bilius." Mrs. Freeman hated Harry, but she reserved a very special type of loathing for Figg; the two had even come to blows before, in church of all places.

Figg nodded and released Harry. "Well then, come on in!"

Harry didn't like lying to Figg—but it was a necessary evil, at least that was what he told himself.

Figg barely made enough to support them with her kneazle business; luxuries like new clothes and shoes... those were generally out of Figg's range.

It was why Harry did these petty little nickings, and such: just something to have on the side. Well, that, and his friends all did similar things, so...

By the time nine had rolled around, Figg had Harry fully clothed in a nice pair of jeans, a rather nice Arsenal jersey—his favourite team—and a pair of yellow sneakers.

"It's too early, Figg!" Harry protested as she tried to push him out the door.

Her trust in Lisa was rather handy, it made outings like these rather easy to manoeuvre. David Thompson, for example, generally had some serious issues getting free for their late-night adventures much to his chagrin.

"Harry, Lisa was kind enough to invite you to this party, don't you think you should repay her with some punctuality?"

"But Figg—"

Her look cut off his response and Harry's shoulders sagged. "I'll go…!"

She ruffled his hair, beaming. "There's a good lad; remember to have a good time, now, won' you?"

"Kinda hard not to do that at a party, Figg."

Figg chortled. "Oh, you cheeky bastard; well then, enjoy yourself, won' you?"

"Definitely!"

Harry was right, which wasn't any sort of surprise: he was way too early!

Lisa let Harry in with a snort when he knocked. She closed the door behind him and he took in the house. He spied beer, and all sorts of alcoholic drinks on a table in the living room, three huge speakers spaced around at the corners of the living room and chips strewn all over the place.

"Figg?"

"Figg!" Harry confirmed with a nod.

Lisa snorted. "Come on, lemme show you around."

There wasn't really anything in Lisa's house that Harry hadn't already seen but he followed after her dutifully.

"Great job with the living room!"

Lisa smiled over her shoulder as she went up the staircase. "Thanks, it took quite a bit to set it all up—and those speakers didn't come cheap, lemme tell ya."

Harry snorted.

Upstairs was almost empty.

Lisa's parents room was open. The bed looked like it'd been done. The closet was bared up. And where the nightstand normally was, with Mr. Smith's medicine, was gone, and two chairs sat there now. Lisa switched the light on, and Harry shielded his eyes from the ray of light that suddenly attacked his eyes.

Lisa rolled her eyes at him. "This is where it's going down."

"It?"

Lisa harrumphed. "Quit kidding around, Harry; d'you think I just fancied throwing a party on a whim?"

Harry shrugged. "Hell should I know; you just graduated, didn't you? That's cause for celebration, isn't it?"

Lisa narrowed her eyes. "Funny, you just graduated, as well; I don't see you throwing any parties, though."

Harry scowled and kept quiet.

"Look, I know you can do things. I need you tonight, okay? Just in case these bastards try something—"

"Woah, woah, they're going to be trying something?"

Lisa gave a roar of frustration and Harry took a startled step back. "Just in case, Harry! Just please, okay? I mean, after all I've done for you—can't you just help me out here a bit here?"

Harry scowled. "Blackmail? Really?" She did have a point, though. Harry owed Lisa quite alot: his contacts, his reputation, his position in the underground, illegal world was thanks in large to Lisa.

Lisa shrugged. "Well, I doubt me stripping naked would help."

Harry pretended to gag.

"You know, I can't wait for you to grow up and become a little heart-breaker, then I'll remind you of this moment."

Harry run a hand through his hair. "Whatever, Lisa. Alright, fine, but what d'you want me to do? I doubt these are the lads that wanna see a ten year old boy in their super important meetings."

Lisa shuffled about nervously. "Well, no, of course not—here's how it's going to go down!"

* * *

"Enjoying yourself, Harry?"

Harry glanced up at Lisa, and slumped in relief. It wasn't time quiet yet. Of course, that meant that this nightmare period wasn't quite done yet.

He gave a shrug. "Yeah, ain't that right, Ed?"

Edward was a thin pimply chap—currently stuffing his face in a bag of chips. He got his head out of the chips, long enough to give a grunt and then get back to his chips.

Lisa wrinkled her nose. "You need to work on your friends, Potter."

Harry shrugged. "He's got his uses." Edward had—through his contacts—helped Harry sell some products, that had raked in a fair bit of cash. And thankfully, Ed was a clean type of bloke—he didn't do any of that double-crossing type of stuff, which meant Harry had managed to swindle the boy out of some fat chunks of money without the teenager realizing he'd been shafted.

Lisa raised her brow, obviously not too convinced. Harry didn't bother trying to convince her. It was nice to have a couple of secrets for himself.

Lisa rushed off to put out a little scuffle that'd broken out. Harry went to find Bilius—eventually finding the thin boy chatting up Lison Christiaens.

"Yo, Billy!"

"Harreikins!"

Harry gave a tug at Lison's rather long blonde hair for that nickname and she gave a satisfying gasp of pain. Bilius laughed and gave Harry a fist-bump.

"Where've you been? I went to your place and your Mom said you weren't there!"

Bilius snorted and took a swig of his beer. Harry raised a brow. Bilius was only thirteen, it was funny that he could get his hands on beer and Harry couldn't.

"Oh, I was home alright; I heard you but when I went in search of you, you'd left already; figured I'd see you at the party anyways so I didn't bother going after you."

He said it so casually that Harry almost believed it, but something was off. He nodded, though, like it was quite the opposite. "Cool. Anyway you won't believe how much I made in London this afternoon!"

"Billy," Harry cringed at the way Lison said Bilius's name, and Bilius, himself, didn't look all that flattered, "are you seriously going to talk with this kid over me?"

Bilius fixed her with a look. "Yes, yes, I am, if you've got a problem, luv, you can leave, you know, nobody's stopping you!" Well, except that Lison Christiaens really didn't know anyone at this party outside of Harry and Bilius.

"So, Harry, just how much cash are we talking here?"

Harry dug within his pockets and pulled out some fat rolls of cash to show off. Bilius whistled and even with the music blaring, quite a few heads turned their way in curiosity.

A loud screech of squealing tires sounded at that moment and Harry felt his heart stop. "Gotta go!" he quickly mumbled.

Harry hadn't really noticed, with his mates in the kitchen, eating chips and chatting away about rugby but there were a shitload of people present at this party.

Trying to squeeze his way through to Lisa proved to be quite the challenge. Thankfully, Lisa was looking for him, as well, he found out when he barrelled into her on pure accident. Turns out, she had some beer in her hand, as well and with their collision, the beer fell to the ground and burst.

Boo's, protests and insults rained down upon Harry from the people in the vicinity and Harry flushed an embarrassed red. Lisa grabbed his stained shirt and pulled him close. "They're here, Harry!"

Harry felt his eyes flare wide. "Wait, like for real?" he stuttered.

Lisa shook him. "You think I'd kid bout summin like this," she hissed before letting go of him and rushing towards the front door.

Harry gave himself a slap round the head to get his head right and then dashed up the stairs to Mr. and Mrs. Smith's room, just praying everything went off without a hitch.

He fumbled with the light-switch, quickly turning it off and forcing himself into the closet. He couldn't help wondering why the hell Lisa actually chose her parent's home—and more importantly their friggin' bedroom—as the setting for this... well, whatever it was.

Harry had barely gotten his nerves under control when he heard the creak of footfalls steadily getting louder and then he heard Lisa's voice.

"Right through here, gents!" Harry thought she sounded nervous, she had that high octave type of sound, almost squeaking.

There were grunts of acknowledgment and suddenly the door burst open. Harry felt his heart rate speed up; it was one thing planning and saying what you'd do hypothetically, it was a whole nother sort of thing when you were actually neck-deep involved.

"Alright, let's see it!"

Harry really wished he could see just what was going on; he could guess, and all that good stuff, but it wasn't as good as being able to actually witness the shite go down.

Then again, he wasn't hiding in a closet to be able to witness this; he was here as an "insurance policy."

There was a click and a soft thud and a whistle. Harry thought Lisa must have just popped a briefcase open on the ground.

"I already told you, Arturo—I mean business. You hold up your end, and all these goodies are yours—"

"Have you got the knives, as well?" That was somebody else. He sounded more polished, refined, properly in control.

Lisa gave a growl. Harry thought it sounded frustrated. "What d'you take me for? 'Course, I've got 'em." She sounded offended at their insinuation.

Seconds ticked and nothing happened. Harry felt himself tensing up, wondering if this was the moment he was expected to... well, he didn't quite know what Lisa expected him to do, really. "Intervene," was all she'd said, but Harry had no clue how he was going to do such a thing. And yes, he had control of his powers and all that but like bloody hell, there was dealing with Dudley and his knobhead friends and then there were these...

Harry held in a sigh, hoping he wasn't way in over his head over here; Figg'd kill him if he died. Well, resurrect him through prayer only to kill him again.

"Where the fuck's it at then?"

Yet another voice. Harry gulped, wondering if he could take on three grown men. He calmed himself down, reminding himself that Lisa had three zombie knives expertly concealed and so if shite was to hit the fan... well, worst case scenario, he'd have Lisa to back him up.

There was a thud and another click. Someone grunted. "Good."

Lisa sighed in what seemed like relief to Harry, who felt himself sag, as well. "Glad you're satisfied... I assume you've got my money?"

There was silence for a couple of seconds and Harry felt a whirring sound develop in his ears and he tensed up.

"Georges..." It was that polished voice again. He sounded like a politician.

There was a shuffling, ruffling sound. "Here you go, Missie!"

"Thanks." Harry frowned, wondering just what to make of all this. "This isn't what we agreed on!"

There was a snort of amusement. "Yes, well, it's what we're willing to pay you—"

"You cunts! You think you can just fuck me over like this? I'll have—"

There was this clicking sound that Harry knew very well and Lisa suddenly didn't have jack-shite to say.

"It's not all for naught, Lisa—really!"

"Screw you, Arturo!" Harry thought she sounded close to tears and Harry cringed, wondering if he really wanted to witness something like that.

"Yes, yes, I am quite the bastard, you will kill me, it'll be long and painful, I've heard it all before, you know."

Harry felt his fists clench but remained in the closet.

Lisa gave a scream of rage and suddenly, there was a thud and the shuffling of feet and Harry realized that if there was ever a moment that his help was needed, it was probably now.

He remained in the closet though, struggling to make sense of what he was hearing.

Lisa screamed in pain and suddenly her voice was cut off, and Harry felt himself still, wondering if... perhaps—

"I'll let that one slide, Lisa; I get it, you're eighteen, young and inexperienced... But if you ever try something like this ever again..." The threat hung in the air, and Harry shivered at the prospect.

Then the man chuckled. "Like I already said, it's not half a million!" Harry had to stifle a gasp at that and the man snorted. "How you managed to convince yourself that we'd pay you that much, I wonder but—"

There was a sudden grunt of pain and a rather ominous click and Harry just knew he had no other choice.

He pushed the closet door open and burst out. He immediately regretted his decision.

There were three men in the room. Lisa had her hands raised up in submission as one of them pointed his gun at her. Harry couldn't help but chastise himself for his rather abysmal timing.

"Who the bloody fuck are you?" He was the shortest of the bunch, and of the lot, he was the only one he who looked like a scoundrel. He wore a ripped T-shirt and faded jeans that looked like they'd seen way better days.

He was also the one wielding the gun.

The other two were dressed in suits and were studying Harry shrewdly.

Harry stepped forward, and tried for a winning smile he wasn't feeling in the slightest. "James."

Lisa narrowed her eyes at him, and she wasn't the only one.

"You?!"

Harry shrugged. "Sorry to disappoint you."

The man bared a sinister grin at Harry that made his stomach water. "Oh, don't worry yourself too much, kid." The man cocked the gun and bared it at Harry. "Toodles."

Harry gulped and closed his eyes, praying with all he was worth that he didn't die just here.

A bang sounded and a gasp followed not too long after and Harry pried his eyes open. The man with the gun was suddenly looking at Harry, wide-eyed and Harry could see a gaping hole from his chest. His arm fell limp and he dropped like a sack of chips to the ground with a rather dull thud.

Nobody moved a muscle.

Lisa dashed forward and dived upon the gun that had slipped out of the guy's hands. The two suited men gulped and nervously backed away from Lisa as she pointed the gun their way.

The men seemed incredibly reluctant to edge too close to Harry so they remained between Harry and Lisa, hands raised.

"Here's how this shit's gonna go down!" she said with relish. Harry saw that her eyes were wide open and even though she had a gun in her hand, her arm was twitching, shaking and Lisa was breathing rather heavily. She looked rather mad, Harry thought, with her matted hair and the beads of sweat on her forehead.

"You two twats are gonna go back and get the rest of my money; in fact, make it a cool mill, why don't you? For trying to fuck me over. And if you try to fuck me over again, I swear I'll make James over here make sure your deaths are far more painful than just one bullet."

Harry gulped. It wasn't that he didn't know what had just happened; hearing it said out loud just made it seem a whole lot more real. There was no denying it now, really.

Lisa waved the gun around wildly. "Don't test me, boys! I will kill you!"

The men shared a worried glance and nodded. "We'll be taking our leave now then."

"Give me but one reason, Arturo, and I swear I will take it!"

One of the men looked over his shoulder, looking properly nervous. "I don't doubt it."

The door slammed shut behind them and Lisa dropped the gun. She heaved a huge sigh and sank into her parent's bed. Harry tore his eyes away and focused on the dead bloke just rotting away literally two steps away from him. His eyes were still wide open, and the shock and horror stared up into the ceiling. His mouth was leaking black blood, and Harry felt vomit start to build up in his mouth.

"What the bloody hell are we gonna do bout that?"

Lisa was sitting up in the bed now, staring at Harry, looking very worried.

Harry run a hand through his hair and sighed. "I don't have a clue; I'm too young to go to jail."

"Having a mill ain't gonna do too much for me if I'm rotting away in a jail cell," Lisa agreed.

The two got real quiet as they contemplated what this bloke dying in Lisa's house meant for both of them.

"You need to lay low for a while, Harry!"

Harry snapped his head towards her, his jaw going slack. "What?!"

"I'm serious." And she bloody looked it, as well. "I can't thank you enough for what you just did. I hope you realize now that I was right about needing your help tonight but I can take care of the rest."

"But—"

"Please, Harry! Arabella's probably already worried sick about you right now; you know it's already two? Harry felt his jaw drop. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Arturo isn't gonna be too much of an issue now, I don't think—"

"What if he is, though? Maybe he tries summin again—"

"I can handle it!" Lisa smiled at him. "How d'you think I ever managed to survive without you."

Harry grumbled about the unfairness of it all.

"It's summer, Harry; go home, go to the zoo, or the cinema; heck, I hear there's a carnival in town, go have fun, be a kid for awhile, but please, no shady shite for awhile, okay? Promise me! I couldn't handle it if something happened to you!"

Harry sighed and run hand across his face. "Alright, fine, I promise!"


	3. More to it than Meets the Eye

Harry angrily stamped on the remote for the telly, watching with satisfaction as it went blank.

It had been just about a week since Lisa's party—and he was officially bored out of his mind.

He'd never really given it much thought but outside of his shady, "dregs of society" type friends, he really didn't have any friends. And with his promise to stay on the clean side of things to Lisa, Harry found himself aimlessly drifting around Little Whinging with little to do.

It was almost a relief when a harsh banging sounded on the door.

"Police! Open up!"

Harry felt his heart stop cold.

It wasn't that it was unexpected—in fact, if anything, it floored Harry to think it'd taken so long. Blimey, he'd expected the bobbies to pounding at the door the morning after the party.

Figg came rushing out of the bathroom in her bathrobe, her graying hair a proper dishevelled mess and very obviously twitchy. Harry couldn't blame her, he wasn't faring a whole lot better himself.

There were two officers at the door and Harry could make out a couple of neighbours—the Wright-Phillips, in particular, with their absurdly lanky frames—pretending to be walking past in order to get a peek at what was going on.

Figg cleared her throat nervously and pulled her robe up a tad. "Yes?"

The bobbies shared a glance and one of them shrugged, turning back to Figg and Harry. He was doing a smashing job of ignoring Figg's bathrobe, Harry felt.

"Are you Mrs. Figg?" Figg nodded shakily. "And you are Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded.

The other policeman smiled and clapped his hand together. "Excellent; may we come in, we have a few questions that we'd like to ask Mr. Potter!"

Figg's eyes drew wide and she gathered Harry real close and tight. "Harry? No, you must have the wrong boy; he wouldn't hurt a fly." Harry flushed, fidgeting.

The officers smiled an easy smile and Harry finally managed to wriggle free from Figg. "I'm sure he wouldn't, Mrs—but he was present at Lisa Smith's party last week—"

"Yes, what of it?"

The officer raised his hand in apparent submission and Harry couldn't blame him, Figg looked ready to spit fire if need be.

"Mrs, I want to assure you that Harry here is not in any sort of trouble at all; we just want his assistance with a case we're handling. The Dursleys already told us about your most admirable devotion to the boy. We'll be taking but a few minutes of your time."

Figg didn't look all that convinced but she stepped aside and allowed the bobbies entrance.

Harry shuffled his feet after them as Figg shut the door, hoping Lisa came through once again.

The officers introduced themselves after Figg fixed them both a cup of tea.

Harry gave them credit, they hadn't commented at the untidy living room. Some of it was Harry's fault, he was willing to admit. But the lion's share of the blame definitely lay at the feet of Figg's cats, he felt.

"I'm Cooper. Anderson Cooper. My colleague here is Jeffery West." Figg nodded, seemingly happy to have some names. The Cooper bloke leaned forward into Harry. "Harry, we've learnt that you were at the party. We just have a couple of questions for you."

They were going for that soft, soothing voice so as not to frighten him. How cute. He wondered just why they hadn't brought females along like Lisa had theorized. He supposed she couldn't always be right.

He gave a weak nod, and tried to do some trembling lip thing that he didn't think he pulled off successfully.

"Harry, did you notice anything out of the ordinary during the party? Anything at all?"

The other officer chimed in. "It doesn't have to be the biggest detail... A... erm, odd happenstance, something that didn't quite seem right to you..."

Harry shook his head weakly, rather nervous at the scrutiny on himself. Figg was frowning at him, perhaps sensing something was off. "He's been rather subdued since the party if that means anything..."

Harry went stiff. Funny, in all their planning, nobody had considered that Figg could become an issue.

"He hasn't been out all week, and he seems bored to me."

"Just tired," Harry mumbled, flushing.

The officers nodded and shared what looked like a significant glance. Harry felt his knees weaken and was very glad he was sitting down.

"Mrs. Figg, when you say subdued...?"

Figg cleared her throat. "Harry is a very special boy; he doesn't have a whole lot of friends his age." Harry glared up at her but she brushed him off with irritating ease. "He hasn't once gone out, which is incredibly odd; he's usually out the whole day—"

"Could you give us the name of some of his contacts?"

Figg looked taken aback by that. "I... erm, why... that is to say, I don't see why you would need such sensitive information..."

The Cooper bloke sighed and entwined his hands, looking weary all of a sudden. "Harry, did you know a one Randolph Seamus?"

Harry did his best to look confused. He scrunched his eyebrows together and frowned. The bobbies sagged in disappointment and Harry conjured a tight smile. "Sorry, but I don't really know anyone with that name." He tried for a nervous laugh, and it really wasn't asking too much from himself. "I mean, I thought Seamus was an Irish name."

The officers nodded and took a sip of their tea.

It was quiet, Figg quietly studying him and Harry doing his best to look unaffected as his skin itched.

"Well then, thanks for your time—"

"Wait!" Harry cleared his throat as all eyes focused on him.

"Yes?" The other one—Jeffery West—implored, looking a bit impatient.

"I..." Harry slowed down, remembering how Lisa had told him it had to happen. "You said to tell you about anything that seemed odd, out-of-place." The two officers shared an excited glance, and Jeffery West quickly dug out a small notebook. "I... it was quite late, as well, around like two in the morning," Harry said with a guilty grimace at Figg, who looked coolly back at him; she was going to chew his head off about that at a later date, he knew. "And I'd already agreed with Lisa that I was going to be sleeping in the guest room upstairs—"

"That room was locked, we understand?"

Harry fidgeted. These officers were rather sharp, weren't they? "Yes, I got the keys from Lisa. I... er... bumped into her, and she was holding like beer—"

The officers were nodding very eagerly, and Mr. West was furiously writing away in his notebook. "This was in the living room, was it not?"

Figg frowned at them. "If you already know all this, why you are here asking—"

"Yes!" Harry expertly avoided Figg's eyes and cleared his throat. "Yes, it was in the living room. So, I went upstairs and... um, when I went past by Mr. and Mrs. Smith's room—because the guest room is all the way at the end of the corridor..." The officers were nodding and Harry felt very emboldened. "I heard this bloke shouting like... I dunno, a madman, I guess," Harry said with a ruffle to his hair. "But like sadder, too. He was talking about like his life was shite—er, I mean, like bad." Harry flushed as the officers chuckled and fidgeted at Figg's raised eyebrow.

"I took my ear away from the door, it was pretty scary actually and—well, yeah, went to bed."

The officers beamed up at Harry. "Excellent, Harry; you've been incredibly helpful!"

"Really?" Harry laid it on thick with the startled-wide-eyed kiddie play and the officers ate it up.

"Oh, yes, certainly..."

It was all smiles as the officers took their leave and Harry'd managed to convince himself that he was all in the clear but then Figg shut the door and fixed Harry with a look he'd come to associate with trouble.

He gulped.

"Two a.m, Harry? What have I told you about going to bed late?"

Harry winced. "It stunts your growth and ruins your next day," he recited dully.

"And you still did it—"

"But Figg—"

"Don't you "but Figg me", young man!" Harry slumped, hoping he wasn't about to be subjected to a lecture. Figg almost never lectured him, but the few times she had, always left him sad and empty.

"And just what the bloody hell was that all about? A man crying, sad?"

Harry felt his whole body grind to a stop. For a second, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. He knew what he had to do, but he didn't want to.

"What d'you mean?"

Figg closed the distance between them, looking into his eyes and Harry stared back defiantly, his heart beating loudly within his chest. "Why didn't you tell me about this, Harry?" she asked in a soft voice and Harry realized with a pause that her eyes were glistening as tears built up.

"I didn't think it was important..."

Figg crouched down before Harry, and now he was looking down at her; he'd grown quite a bit since moving in with her. "Why'd you tell the bobbies then, Harry?"

Harry gave a weak shrug that he knew wasn't doing too much to sway Figg. "They said to tell them about anything odd—"

"I just find it really convenient that you had something for them—"

"You don't believe me?!" Harry felt his eyes narrow and his fists clench.

Figg's face had hardened and she was looking at Harry like she'd never looked at him before and he felt his jaw go tight at that look and his breathing quicken.

"Harry, what happened at that party?"

Images flashed by his eyes and Harry lifted up his chin. "I just told you, and if you don't believe me—"

"I never said that—"

But Harry wasn't listening anymore. "It doesn't matter what I say then, does it?! 'Cause you won't believe me anyways!" Harry sniffled, refusing to allow tears to take over. "I can't bloody believe you—"

"Harry! Calm down!"

"Saying you love me and whatnot—and you don't even fucking believe me!"

Figg gasped in surprise and her eyes flared open. "Watch your language—"

"What does it fucking matter?" He was shaking and twitching, trembling now, tears streaming down his face and his voice turning hoarse. "You don't even believe me!

"Harry, listen to me—"

"I'm out of here!" Figg blinked at him in shock and pushed to her feet. She wasn't all that taller than him, still—maybe an inch or three. "I... if you don't—"

"Harry, it's just highly unlikely—"

Harry gave a roar of frustration and then, before his very eyes, Figg flew backwards through the air and into the front door, which gave a very terrifying croak but thankfully remained firmly in place.

Harry felt all the energy seep out of him and suddenly it all came back to him. "Oh my word!" He rushed towards Figg's limp body and turned her over so he could see her face.

She wasn't breathing!

"No," he muttered to himself. It couldn't be! He wasn't going to accept it. She couldn't be dead. There were so many others out there that deserved to die, that Randolph bloke—probably—but Figg... she was a fucking saint!

Harry roared as tears overtook him and he sobbed over Figg's unmoving body, shaking her, imploring her to wake up...

Coughs, hoarse coughs sounded and Harry stilled nervously, rubbing at his eyes.

"I don't fucking believe it!" He gave a cry of delight and jumped on top of her. "Figg, you're alive!"

Figg shoved Harry off of her. "'Course I'm alive, you little tyke; take more than that to get rid off ol' Arabella." She went into a coughing fit and Harry threw his arms around her, laughing delightedly.

"I don't believe it; you're a wizard!"

Harry stilled and pulled off of Figg's body, frowning.

* * *

The next few days were hectic, and Harry began wishing for the dullness of the week after Lisa's party to return.

Figg had gone all lifeless and Harry had elected to call the ambulance. They'd taken his statement and the bobbies were chalking it up to "a bout of shock" after the police coming to knock on her door. Figg was approaching fifty-years old, after all.

Nobody was willing to listen to Harry when he said that he'd accidentally caused Figg to go flying into the door. In fact, the more Harry pushed, the worse it got.

After he ended up having to endure an hour-long talk with some psychologist with these daft theories continuously being thrown at him—"when something dramatic happens that our minds cannot make sense of, our brains scramble to deduce a reasoning. Couldn't it be, Harry, that you simply imagined throwing Mrs. Figg into the door?"—Harry had felt like punching her, but the windows had suddenly exploded and he felt that with the looks he was already garnering and the mutterings following him about, he needed to reign himself in to make sure he didn't end up in some mental hospital somewhere.

It'd been five days and according to the doctors, Figg should be up any day now. All her injuries were internal, nothing on the outside. In fact, the doctor—Collins Eastwood—joked with Harry that he'd thought someone had been having him on when he'd first laid eyes on Figg.

Harry knew he was responsible, and the guilt ate at him. His stomach growled and he pushed to his feet.

"Hey, kid."

It was Lisa. She looked rather upbeat and Harry felt himself frowning. He nodded at her and brushed past her on his way towards the kitchen. Nurses and the likes suddenly moved out of the way as he neared and Lisa made an impressed sound, following after him for a change.

She managed to keep her mouth shut until they had some food on their plates and were seated around a table in the canteen.

"So, what's got you down?"

Harry gave her a flat look and got started on his rice pudding. It was bland but at least it was food.

"You know, I just talked with the doctors..."

Harry threw her a bone. "Really?"

Lisa huffed. "They say Figg's out of any danger. Whatever happens, she's going to be okay!" she finished, searching for Harry's eyes.

It was good news, and Harry was indeed relieved to hear but he just couldn't get excited about it.

Lisa sighed and sagged in disappointment, taking a tentative sip of her tea, testing it out. She didn't look pleased with her findings. "By the way, we're in the clear!"

Harry felt his head snap up. Lisa was beaming at him. "Wait, for real?" Lisa nodded and Harry finally felt his cheeks loosen in a smile.

"My parents came back yesterday from the States—"

"Did it work?" Mr. and Mrs. Smith had gone to America for an operation that would apparently cure Mr. Smith of his disease; this was the fourth such operation and Harry wasn't exactly expecting this to be unlike any of the others.

Lisa shrugged. "They're gonna go check it out in about a week to see." She shook her head as if clearing dust. "But anyway, they got my parents up to speed and they've declared it a suicide."

Harry nodded, content. "That's good... And the money?" Lisa's wide smile was answer enough. "I wish I was there to scare 'em just a little."

Lisa snorted. "I told you I'd be fine without you. Arturo was relieved not to see you present at the exchange, I'll tell ya."

Harry scowled.

Lisa pushed to her feet. "Anyway, I've gotta go now. Gotta enroll in Oxford and all that, you know."

Harry watched her leave with a smile, glad good fortune was returning to his life.

His good fortune came to an end not too long after. Harry was camping out in the waiting room, hoping a nurse or someone would come and tell him that Figg had awoken.

Instead, two strikingly identical bobbies stood over Harry. One had his belly really hanging out, and the other looked like a mop with hair slapped on his head.

"Harry Potter?" The fat one grunted.

"Uh... yeah?"

"You're gonna have to come with us." The fat one gave a nod at that and Harry wondered how his neck felt, having to carry all that weight.

"Er... may I ask why?"

The skinny one turned around. "No, you may not."

They led Harry to the back of the hospital, where their car was waiting for him. "If you'd get in..."

But Harry was quite done being cooperative; it obviously wasn't getting him any answers. "I'd quite love to if you'd only answer my questions!" He tried not to—really, he did—but he ended up sounding like a whinging kid, and he cringed slightly.

The skinny one slipped behind the steering wheel and the fat one peeled back to Harry, who felt his palms suddenly get all clammy as he realized just how large the police officer was. The man made Uncle Vernon look marginal by comparison. "Would you step in the car?" he growled.

Harry gulped and quickly followed his suggestion, figuring it was the best for his health.

About twenty minutes later, Harry found himself in front of 4 Privet Drive and dread overcome him.

"Well, go on then! Get on out!"

Harry shook his head as images raced past him, of him screaming, wailing. "No, you can't... I won't—"

"Kid, get the fuck out. Don't make me come back there and make you, yer understand?" Harry shook his head doggedly and the police officer swore. "Bloody menace!" The police officer pushed his door open and tugged Harry's open.

A sudden whirring buzz went off and the fat officer's palms wrapped around Harry's small frame and gave him a tug. Harry flew out of the car with a cry.

"Justin! Justin! Stop! They want 'em back at the hospital!"

The officer let go of Harry, and he rubbed his throbbing arm, wondering just what weird twist things could take now.

The officer stomped up to the car, looking incredibly intimidating. Harry suddenly understood what Lisa meant when she said "best to stay on the bobbies' good side!".

"They think we're some bloody taxi or what?! We're bloody law enforcement, not fucking public transport!"

"Got that right!" The fat officer slipped back into the police car, giving the door a rather loud slam and rolled his glass down, glaring at Harry. "Don't make me come out there; you said you didn't wanna go home. You got your wish; we're going back to the hospital, now get the fuck back inside the car."

Harry quickly let himself out of the police vehicle the moment they arrived back at the hospital and dashed up to Figg's room, completely spent and out-of-breath by the time he got there.

The Collins Eastwood doctor bloke was just coming out of Figg's room and Harry sped up a tad, only to end up bent-over before the doctor.

"Ah Harry; just the lad I was looking for you. She wants to speak with you, you see... Harry?" The doctor sounded concerned and Harry lifted his head with difficulty and the doctor laughed. "Ran all the while here, did you?" Harry nodded idly. "Well then, go on inside and I'll get a nurse to bring you a bottle of water; how's that sound?"

The bottle of water took it's time getting there but by the time Mrs. Samson slunk back out of the room, Harry had already exhausted all the dull questions he could ask.

Figg claimed she was fine, and incredibly refreshed. They'd already discussed the hospital room in great detail, and Figg had light-heartedly scolded Harry when he'd suggested that Figg had a secret admirer, citing the roses as evidence.

The room got rather quiet and Harry started fidgeting on the bed, suddenly uncomfortable. "Harry?"

"Yes...?"

"D'you remember what I said before I passed out?"

Harry gave a weak nod, gulping. Figg sat up with some proper difficulty and Harry jumped to his feet in distress but Figg irritatedly waved him away. "You can do things, can't you, Harry?"

Harry sank back into the bed, and gave a tight smile. "I can, yeah; and everyone I told about it says I've just imagined it. Mrs Kane—"

"Who's that?"

Harry scowled. "This psychologist they're having me see. She said—"

"Psychologist?"

"Yeah, because I insisted that I'd caused your injury—" Harry hung his head.

"It's not your fault, Harry; you can't control it, it's how it works."

But he could! That was the thing. He could control it. He could make things move without touching them, he could make animals do what he wanted, without training them. He could make bad things happen to people who annoyed him. He could make them hurt if he wanted.

And now, he'd hurt Figg—

"Harry, listen to me—there are others like you!"

Harry frowned. "Others?"

Figg nodded. "Yes, others that can do what you can. It's not going to be easy—I lost all my contacts to the Wizarding World, after all, but for you, my boy, I'm willing to look for them again. Don't you worry yourself for one second."

The door creaked open and Doctor Collins walked in with a smile, and Harry jumped off of Figg's bed. "Everything alright in here?"

Harry nodded. "Now, do try to stay out of trouble, dear."

Harry scowled. That was all everybody wanted to tell him these days.

* * *

Harry perked up at the doorbell.

A grin stretched his face, growing wider as he dashed out of his room—it had been Dudley's second bedroom in the past—easily ignoring his Uncle's disgruntled roar of "BOY!"

He pulled open the door, slightly out of breath but beaming hugely. If he'd had to spend his eleventh birthday with the Dursleys... well, he wouldn't have been too pleased.

"About bloody time, honestly! What took you so long?"

Harry's grin slowly slid off his face. It wasn't Figg standing behind the door.

The man looked like a petty criminal trying to pass off as a well-to-do type. He was quite tall, towering massively over Harry, and he had on a suit that was noticeably wrinkled and patched—Harry couldn't think of any other word to describe him than shabby.

He snorted at the thought of what Aunt Petunia would do if she were to see him.

"We don't want whatever you're selling!" he recited and made to shut the door.

The man stuck a foot in the doorway, stopping Harry cold, and he took a step closer. Harry suddenly noticed that the man looked rather wrinkled, and had a few scars scattered all over his face.

It was an odd combination: such a large—well, certainly, length-wise—man that looked so frail. Harry didn't know what to make of it.

The man smiled an easy-going smile and Harry felt himself relaxing as the scars on the man's face turned rather faint.

"I would think that you, in particular, Harry, would be _most _interested in what I'm selling today." The man finished with a cheeky chuckle, digging within his pocket and waved a yellowish envelope at Harry.

The man stopped, looking rather confused as Harry stared back at him, wondering how he could get rid of this man, quite obviously raving bonkers.

"BOY! Who the bleeding hell is behind that door?!" Harry stepped out of the way to give his Uncle a good look at the loony lunatic trespassing on his doorway.

The man seemed reassured by Uncle Vernon's appearance, however. Or, maybe, he just misinterpreted Harry's intentions when he stepped aside.

Either way, the man stepped right past Harry. "Ah, Mr. Dursley. May I be welcomed inside? I believe I have quite a few things to explain to Harry, wouldn't you agree?"

Funny, the man sounded highly displeased at that. Uncle Vernon had gone purple, his infamous vein throbbing dangerously and Harry quickly busied himself with closing the door, wondering if he was about to witness another death.

Aunt Petunia came rushing over from the kitchen, Dudley waddling behind her and she gasped, shakily pointing at the man, who was now firmly clutching a... stick...?

"You're one of them!"

The man turned to Harry, and winked, and Harry just gaped back stupidly. "One of them? A wizard, you mean?"

Harry frowned. "Don't you dare use that term in my house!" Uncle Vernon roared and he took an enraged step towards the man. Harry cringed in fear for the man, figuring things were about to turn very properly ugly.

And then, right before Harry's eyes, the man waved his stick around his head and gave it a sharp upward tug. A dull, green light burst out of the stick and then Uncle Vernon gave a startled cry as he suddenly flipped upside down, dangling in mid-air by his ankles.

Aunt Petunia gasped and rushed towards her husband, and Dudley gawped, slack-jawed, at his dangling father, his small brain cells obviously having difficulty processing what they were seeing.

The man turned to Harry and gave a satisfied grunt. "Well then, I should think that now we would get a chance to talk without too many issues, what d'you think?"

Harry couldn't help his smile.

The tea took it's time coming—much to Harry's disdain. He twitched about nervously in the couch across from the man, trying to project an air of cool.

He didn't particularly want to offend the man—he'd already clearly demonstrated that he could easily dispatch of blokes several times heavier than he, Harry, was—and with the man's frown deepening rather noticeably as his gaze flitted across the living room, Harry felt that it'd be best waiting until the tea arrived; hopefully, it'd soothe the man, make him more cooperative.

Aunt Petunia arrived then with the tea and Harry silently applauded her ballsiness. The man had been very clear: "the less trying this whole ordeal ends up being for me, the less time your husband has to spend dangling upside down, Mrs. Dursley; the choice is yours!" Obviously she wasn't taking this man quite as serious as Dudley, who'd careered up the staircase with an impressive time at the news.

"Thank you, Mrs. Dursley—if you could give us a few moments..." The man took a tentative sip of his tea.

Aunt Petunia straightened and gave Harry a sweet smile that chilled him to the bone. "Actually, I'd like to stay—I am the boy's guardian, after all!"

Harry gave her a flat look. "Does she have to, sir?" The man looked very well thrown-off by this turn of events, as well.

He cleared his throat and gave Harry a sad smile. "Well, she is your guardian, Harry, perhaps it'd be best—"

"But she's not even special, she can't do things!"

His Aunt Petunia went rigid at that, and fixed Harry with a very icy glare. "Well then, I'll be seeing myself out, I think."

The man watched his Aunt leave up to her room—a resounding slam communicating her mood—with a small frown, the lines on his forehead growing very pronounced.

"Well, Harry, are there any questions you have for me before I begin?" The man took a slurp of his tea, eyebrow raised expectantly at Harry.

"...Um... I mean—that is to say..." Harry cleared his throat at the man's imploring look. "What is your name?"

The man sat down his tea very suddenly, emerging in a coughing fit. He wiped across his mouth, his eyes focused on Harry the whole time. "By Merlin, how could I have made such a blunder?" The man stretched his arm across the table. "Remus Lupin at your service."

Harry hesitantly shook the man's hand, feeling rather stupid.

"...Well, yes, Mr. Lupin—"

"Call me Remus, please. Moony, even, if you prefer!" he finished with a hopeful glance.

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again, very stumped. "Perhaps I should begin explaining and if you have any questions—I'll most gladly answer them." Harry nodded.

The man smiled softly at Harry, almost affectionately. "Good. Now, Harry, I'm sure you witnessed what I just did to your Uncle." The man sought Harry's eyes. "Have you ever done a similar thing?"

Harry flushed, thinking of his most recent examples of his "power": breaking the windows at Mrs. Kane's office, throwing Figg into her front door. He cringed and gave a shrug, figuring it was the safe option.

"I know you have, Harry." The man—Remus, Moony, whatever—held up that yellowish envelope. "This here is your Hogwarts acceptance letter—"

"What?! But I'm all set to go to Stonewall High!" Harry said indignantly.

Remus smiled patiently. "Hogwarts is a school, Harry. One of the most prestigious of it's kind—"

Harry scowled. There was a reason he wanted to go to Stonewall. "So it's for posh boys then? I dunno why you'd think I'd want to go to such a school."

The man chuckled. "No, Harry, it's not a school for posh boys—it's a school of magic!"

Harry gasped. That word had caused him quite a lot of pain back in his early childhood. "Magic?"

"Come on, now, Harry—you saw what I did to Uncle; I know for a fact that you've had several bouts of accidental magic. Too many, actually..." he trailed off.

Was this what Figg meant, he wondered. Others like him. Others that could do things.

"I... I can make things move without touching them—Is that normal then?"

Remus gave a nod and Harry felt electricity shoot up his body. People just like him. He could barely believe it.

"So... So what?" he asked in a rush. "Is it just a school and after that, it's done—"

The man laughed. "Oh no, no, no, no! Hogwarts is simply the entry into the Wizarding World." Harry's eyes widened at that. "Oh, yes, it's a whole world, complete with it's own Ministry, banks, money and jobs. A whole new world, Harry!"

Harry sagged in his seat, feeling a tad overwhelmed. "This here, Harry, is your Hogwarts acceptance letter." The man handed over the yellowish envelope with his address scrawled on it in emerald-green ink. "I had hoped to be able to escort you to go buy your supplies but now that it turns out that you had no idea about magic..." The man sighed. "I suppose that won't be happening anymore."

Harry straightened in his seat. "I need to buy supplies?"

The man nodded and took quite a large swig of his tea, sighing contently. Aunt Petunia must have outdone herself. "Yes, if you open your letter, you will find a list of items you are required to have for a successful education at Hogwarts."

Harry peeled the envelope open and traced his fingers along the letter, feeling his eyebrow steadily climb up. "Just where am I going to find a wand at? Or a cauldron? Or a crystal phial or a telescope or a—are you having me on or something?"

But Moony just kept on smiling. "Diagon Alley."

Harry frowned. "Is that in Surrey somewhere?"

"Not quite. London." Harry frowned. He knew London rather well and he certainly didn't recall any Diagon Alley. "It's hidden, obviously," he said rather pointedly at Harry's disbelieving face, "we can't have the muggles—that is normal people without magic, like your relatives—know about us, after all. Just head over to Charing Cross Road—opposite Cammings' Book Shop, you should see a pub squeezed in between a book shop and a record shop."

Harry must have looked as unconvinced as he felt because the man gave a firm nod. "Truly." The man took a glance at his watch and pushed to his feet. "Well, Harry—I'm going to have to be on my way now. I know that I didn't get the chance to take you to Diagon Alley for your supplies but if you ever need any help, I'd like it if you sent me an owl."

Harry gave a nervous laugh and a weak nod, wondering what he meant by that. "I'll let Hogwarts know to expect you September first."

His dangling Uncle was now right in front of them, and Harry could see that his Uncle's head was actually purple and his forehead was throbbing. To make matters worse, his Uncle was unconscious and was sweating quite profusely.

The man sighed and with a simple flick of his stick—wand, Harry corrected himself—Uncle Vernon dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes with a thud and gave a quiet groan.

"Well then, Harry, I'll see myself out, I think."

Moony had barely left before Harry took his leave, himself—waiting only long enough to make a quick stop in his former bedroom: the cupboard under the stairs, to retrieve some money he had stashed there. He figured a hundred and fifty quid should be able to get him to Figg's hospital and back with little difficulty.

His Uncle was groggily making his way to his feet when Harry shut the door behind him, wondering if he'd catch a glance of the Moony fellow.

He was nowhere in sight and Harry glanced about, thinking the man was perhaps invisibly observing him from somewhere. His stomach tingled at the idea and he spent a couple of moments fantasizing about the limits of magic, grinning maniacally when he realized that there were few—if any—limits.

He was seriously giddy by the time he arrived at the hospital, his taxi driver—a Chinese man—looking at Harry suspiciously as he alighted the taxi.

Getting to Figg's room was thankfully far from sticky just like last time and Harry chalked it up to magic with a smile as he pushed into Figg's room.

He stopped cold at the sight that met him.

Figg was covered in all types of tubes and her eyes were shut close. Harry didn't pretend to know a whole lot about medical stuff but from where he stood, Figg didn't look at all too well.

Harry hesitantly approached the bed, frowning. Doctor Collins had been talking about dismissing her six days ago. Why was she still in the hospital then and why did she look so... unwell?

Harry clasped his palm around her arm. It was stone cold. "Figg..."

Her eyes fluttered open and Harry gasped in shock. "Figg!"

She smiled and Harry noticed how wrinkled she was before her face smoothened out. "Harry..." she said it so affectionately that Harry blushed.

"What's going on, Figg? Why're you still here?"

Figg gave him a sad smile. "Don't worry about me, Harry; how's your birthday been so far?"

Harry beamed and quickly delved into the story of Moony and how he'd magicked his Uncle and explained all about Hogwarts and all the drama's of the day.

"But I don't know if I wanna go, Figg—it sounds very posh—"

"You will go!" Figg descended into a coughing mess and Harry frowned in concern down at her. He jumped up and shrieked as the gadgets next to her started going off; he didn't know a whole lot, yes, but even he knew this wasn't good.

Figg made a grab at Harry's arm, and pulled off her oxygen mask. Her breaths came out in painful-sounding rasps and Harry stared at her in horror.

"You must go, Harry! Please! For me!"

"But why d'you even care—"

"Please, Harry, it's all I've ever wanted—a wizarding child!" She started coughing again and now, the gadgets were whirring loudly, flashing red and Harry stole a glance at the door, figuring medical personnel was going to be bursting through those doors any second now.

She cupped his face in her hands. "I'm sorry, Harry—that I won't be there for you! But I want you to promise me that you won't run away from what you are. That you'll be the very best wizard you can be, and you'll make yourself in the Wizarding World, Harry, that—"

"How d'you know about the Wizarding World?"

"Promise me, Harry!"

"I..." She was making gasping sounds now and her eyes were very unfocused now. "Figg, please, calm down!" he choked on a sob and cocked his head to the side. "DOCTOR!" he roared.

He furiously wiped at his tear-stained eyes. "Figg..."

"I promise you, Figg, I'll be the best wizard ever in the Wizarding World, I swear it—just please don't die on me!"

"Promise me," she mumbled weakly.

And then the door exploded open and then, Harry found himself outside a circle of people in white robes furiously shouting instructions off each other as the gadgets continued to get louder and louder—

And then there was a final, whirring continuous sound that suddenly died off and suddenly, Harry just knew—

"NOO!"


	4. A Dream in a Nightmare

Lisa blew a breath out of her mouth and picked up the cards, reshuffling them for another game.

"Your head's not in the game, Harry!"

Harry shrugged.

"It's been two weeks!"

It had, indeed, been two weeks. Two weeks of hell.

Harry could barely sleep, his thoughts a warped mess of guilt-trips and self-hating trips. Life wasn't a whole lot better when he was awake, as well—with Figg passing away, Harry had been sent back to the Dursleys, and even a family of blighters like them could recognize that with Figg gone, nobody could threaten them with going to the police again.

He drifted about Little Whinging in a somber cloud and snapped at the few people that were gutsy and gritty enough to dare approach him—and after the first week, even Bilius started leaving him alone.

He couldn't recall being so miserable in his life. He whiled away the days on the swing, morosely staring ahead and moodily ignoring everybody. Dursley and his gang had yet to try anything dodgy but they were getting bolder the past few days as Harry brushed off their insults.

"You know, if Figg was here, she'd be very unhappy with what you're doing right now, I—"

"Yeah, well, she isn't, now, is she?" he snapped.

Lisa gave Harry a cool smile. She was the only one that had yet to give up on him. "You know, I'm glad I told you to lay low this summer; I can't imagine what you'd be like if you'd witnessed another death or I needed you to shoot someone—you don't have the skin for it, really."

Harry flushed and pushed to his feet, toppling the table over and the cards fluttered to the ground. His eyes narrowed in flints, and his fists tightened to the point where they almost hurt and he went up to Lisa, looking up at her cool gaze, almost daring him to do something.

"I don't have the skin for this?! If it wasn't for me, that Seamus bloke would have shot your brains out, no problem—"

Lisa shrugged. "And since then, look at you—you've been pouting at the whole world, whining about your life, and this—"

"What would you know about it? At least, you have your parents, and Mr. Smith's gonna live, isn't he? So, don't you—"

"Oh, I'm sorry your life's so shite, Harry—would you like a cup of tea?" She finished her mocking of him with a pouted lip and Harry felt something inside him just snap.

Lisa gave a frightened gasp. She went limp and toppled to the ground, her body bending at an odd angle and she screamed shrilly in excruciating pain, and Harry took a hesitant step backwards.

Lisa's screams stopped abruptly and she lay on the ground, breathing heavily. She evaded Harry's eyes. "I... I'm sorry."

Lisa didn't respond, taking a moment to gather her breath, hugging herself. She sniffed at Harry and slowly made to stand, angrily slapping Harry's help away.

"Funny… how much strength… you have to hurt your friends… but you can't even do anything productive with your life—you know Stonewall… opens up next week, right?"

Harry flushed and shifted on his feet nervously.

Lisa approached him, suddenly noticing the tears building up in his eyes. She cupped his face in her hands, looking deep into his eyes. "Hey, it's okay, Harry—It's okay!" Harry descended into tears, huge, loud, sobs that very quickly had Lisa's abdomen soaked wet as she whispered soothing words to him, rocking him, swaying him about.

Harry sniffled and pulled away when he'd cried himself dry, suddenly feeling rather self-conscious; he blushed and avoided Lisa's blue sparkling eyes, shining full of compassion. "Sorry!" he muttered.

"It's quite alright—I get it, Figg was like a Mum to you, of course it sucks to lose her."

She hadn't been like a Mom to him—she had been his Mum. And yes, he knew she wasn't his biological mother and all that but still...

"You're getting quite good at that "power" thing, though, you know..." Lisa rubbed her arm, almost on reflex.

Harry tried for a small smile but ended up with something more like a grimace. "I'm not the only one, you know."

Then, Harry came clean and told her all about Moony and Hogwarts and the Wizarding and how Figg had made him promise to go to Hogwarts and the Wizarding World before she'd passed and how he was very conflicted.

Lisa, though, frowned at him. "I don't see what the indecision is about, Harry—you've got to go to Hogwarts! I mean, Figg is looking down at you from above, I bet she'd be furious if you broke your promise. And besides, a school for magic; it sounds amazing—"

"Yeah, okay, maybe it ends up being sick but this is my whole life, I can't just leave it all beh—"

Lisa snorted. "What life, Harry? I don't know if you've noticed, Harry, but the few friends that you do have here in Little Whinging—well, you've really done a smashing job of getting on their bad side—"

"They'd never try anything with you around—"

"I'm not going to be here that much longer, Harry!" she roared back at him. Harry blinked at her in shock. "Look, it's done for me; this life of crime, I got my brass, I'm going to uni, I'm done with it, I don't need all this stress and shite in my life.

"You've got a good thing here, Harry. You're a wizard, you should be with other wizards. Little Whinging, Surrey..." She sighed. "It's not for you."

Harry remained quiet and thought over what she said.

There were some proper undeniable facts in there. If Lisa did leave Little Whinging, Harry was screwed. He'd fucked over quite a few people who hadn't retaliated because of fear of angering Lisa Smith—who everybody knew was a good friend of Harry Potter.

And if Lisa wasn't around... well, Harry didn't know what that meant for him here. Nothing good, certainly. And with Figg gone, as well...

Maybe he did need a fresh start.

"Wanna come with me to London?"

Lisa smiled at him. "Not like I had any plans; maybe we can catch Arsenal versus Manchester United, eh?"

Getting to London didn't take long at all. Harry still made sure to ask Lisa just why she hadn't bought a car yet as they got off the Tube. She did have about a million pounds just sitting around, after all.

"First off, I don't exactly need my parents or the university or the bobbies or anybody, really, suddenly asking questions like how I have such a car—"

"Be modest, then," Harry said with a shrug.

Lisa sneered. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Charing Cross Road."

"Why?"

"Patience, Lisa."

Lisa followed after him moodily, bumping into passer-by's and forgetting her apologies. Harry cringed and was incredibly relieved to make it to Charing Cross Road whole and healthy.

Lisa, though, had exhausted her patience.

She grabbed Harry by the scruff of his neck. "You best start telling me where we're going, you little turd or else..." Flinty, accusatory eyes suddenly focused on them and Lisa flushed, letting go of Harry, suddenly remembering they were in the middle of London.

Harry snorted. "It's alright, sis." The attention on them very suddenly disappeared as people convinced themselves that it was just a siblings spat. Of course, Lisa being very obviously blonde and Harry very dark-haired passed over everyone's head.

"Okay, see there—between that bookshop and the record shop? The Leaky Cauldron!" Harry implored, frustration starting to take over as Lisa's look remained blank.

She shook her head sadly. "Nope, don't see anything. Is that like a gateway to the magic world or summin?" A group of older people gave Lisa odd glances, frowning at her in concern as they passed them by.

Harry slumped. "It's supposed to be a shopping center. I guess you have to be a Wizard to get in."

Lisa slapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry bout it—I'm gonna check out the mall; meet back here in two?"

Harry nodded and made his way to the Leaky Cauldron, he turned around at the last second to see Lisa beaming and nodding eagerly at him. Harry smiled and made his way into the dingy pub, wondering if he was out of his mind.

A sudden tingling sensation grabbed him and Harry couldn't help but be reminded of every single occasion he'd caused something odd to happen.

It was rather dark and shabby and Harry frowned, wondering if Moony was playing a joke on him, his eyes flitting about in search of the scarred man, almost expecting him to jump out of one of the tables, pushed into the corner, and scream in his face.

The empty tables were being cleaned by a rather dirty-looking rag, an animated bucket of water dutifully following behind—expertly avoiding the customers.

Harry flushed as an old, bald woman wearing rather garish earrings turned to face Harry—perhaps feeling his eyes on her. She grinned at him and gave her wand a little swish, and a trio of trunks floated through the air and landed right beside her.

Harry looked away, and gulped, wondering just what he'd walked into. The fireplace was empty, and Harry smiled, a bit relieved to see something ordinary.

But then suddenly, the fireplace flared to life in an explosion of green and a man spun into view, dressed in these old, dress-looking things that had Harry staring and blinking in shock for several continuous moments. The man brushed the soot of his robes and fixed Harry with a very annoyed look that looked worse with his sallow face.

Harry quickly averted his eyes and hurried over to the counter where he came across yet another bald person—though he thought this one was a man.

He had an incredibly long wand in hand and a couple of bottles, and right before his eyes, he casually flicked his wrists and the bottles emptied out into these mugs and floated across to the room, landing on tables with a dull thud.

Harry gaped for a good few seconds. Lisa would tell him he was off his rocker when he told her.

"Everything alright?" The man gave Harry a wide smile, and he immediately realized that the man had almost no teeth left.

Harry steeled his nerves. "Yes, sir. And you?"

"Couldn't be better; business is always better in the summer, all the kids need their stuff for the new term, eh?"

Harry made a noise of agreement, figuring it was what the man was looking for. He was well and truly out of his element over here.

"You'll want to go to Diagon Alley, I take it?" Harry nodded uncertainly. "Give me a minute, and I'll take you. Name's Tom, by the way. It's my pub," he said proudly.

Tom took Harry past the back door and they ended up in a dead-end alley. Harry opened his mouth, prepared to let a select few-choice words loose but Tom was counting out bricks on the brick wall.

Harry frowned and hesitantly walked up to the balding bartender. "Three up, two across. Then, you tap three times." The man glanced down into Harry, and he looked rather severe now. "You got that?"

The man followed his own instructions and right before Harry's very own eyes, the brick wall began wriggling, writhing, and quivering, making way for a small hole in the middle. Harry had barely gotten out a gasp of amazement before the small hole expanded into a large archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"This is Diagon Alley. You're a Muggleborn, then, I take it—you'll want to be heading to Gringotts to exchange some Muggle money for some Wizarding gold. Don't mind the goblins, they won't hurt ya. It's the big white building right ahead—you can hardly miss it!"

Tom disappeared back into the pub and the archway sealed shut behind him with a rather foreboding ruffling sound.

Harry took a nervous glance around, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans.

Moony had told him, of course—Diagon Alley was a shopping center, and obviously it was hidden from muggles! He'd heard him, loud and clear, but there was a proper difference between hearing and seeing with your own two eye-balls.

They worked his sockets very well as Harry drifted down the cobbled road.

Eyelops Owl Emporium was a sombre shop, with little light to speak of even on this scorching day. Owls hooted softly at him as he passed, almost beckoning him to come closer.

There was a shop that sold broomsticks, and it had attracted quite a crowd of teenagers. "The New Nimbus Two Thousand—fastest ever..."

Harry found himself wondering just how a broomstick could attract such a gaggle of people. His pondering was put on hold when his eyes landed on a shop—proudly advertising the fact that they had bat spleens and eel's eyes, apparently at a most generous discount, as well.

Harry massaged his stomach softly as it made soft, grumpy noises.

He was gathering quite a bit of attention, he realized. People frowned at him as he made his way down the streets. After a while, he gathered that his clothes were responsible.

He was clothed in an Arsenal jersey and a pair of jeans—incredibly striking considering almost everybody else was wearing these long-sleeved dress things, going all the way to their ankles. Even the blokes. Some of them were wearing pointed hats and Harry had to consciously peel his eyes away to avoid coming off as rude.

Tom hadn't been gassing when he'd said Harry couldn't miss Gringotts—it was a large blinding white building towering over all the shops around it. As if that wasn't enough to get a bloke's attention—outside the building, was a short little man with a rough, scrunched up face almost as if it'd been beaten in with a club; he had a most distinct goatee, as well. His teeth were sharp and pointy and as Harry passed by him, he bared his teeth at him, and Harry hastily sped up inside.

A marvelous set of white staircases met him and he found himself before a burnished bronze door. There was another of that short little man—a goblin—but these blokes seemed a tad more important, clad in their scarlet and gold uniforms. They were a lot more professional, as well, their gaze not wavering in the least as Harry passed them, warily taking note of the warning engraved on the silver door.

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

Harry gulped and pushed through into a marble hall. There were large counters stacked up all around him, and almost every second, doors flapped open and spat out a goblin. There were easily hundreds of goblins seated behind the counters, attending to the customers—everyday humans, just like Harry.

Harry nervously joined a rather short line, and before long, he was peering up at a goblin.

"Yes?" The goblin sounded—and looked—incredibly unimpressed with Harry.

Harry run a distressed hand through his hair, and quickly dug out the two-hundred he had in his pocket. "I... Exchange..." Harry cleared his throat. "Could you please exchange some Muggle money for me?"

Harry hoped the goblin couldn't discern his discomfort but the goblin's savage sneer dashed those hopes rather ruthlessly. Harry wasn't too thrilled to get a full-up of the goblin's pointy teeth.

"Over there, Mr. Potter!" The goblin pointed at a far counter, with just two people waiting in line, thankfully. Harry gave a nod and took his leave, wondering just how the goblin knew his name.

The latest goblin remained impassive—even when Harry dropped two-hundred quid cold cash in front on him. Harry was rather impressed, but also a bit irritated.

"Hello—could you please explain the exchange rates?"

"200 Muggle pounds is just about 40 galleons, 4 sickles and 11 Knuts." The goblin reached under his counter and pulled out a large metal box and started counting out coins, several gold ones, a couple of silver ones and then some bronze coins.

The goblin gathered the coins inside a bag and pushed into Harry's hands.

Harry stared back at the goblin, still a bit baffled. "Yes?"

"I... Could you explain the money?" Harry asked softly, hoping to avoid having anybody eavesdropping on him.

The goblin sighed and for the first time, Harry thought he saw something resembling irritation appear on the goblin's face.

"The bronze ones are called Knuts—29 Knuts gives you a Sickle, those are the silver ones. 17 of those and you have a Galleon—the gold ones. All clear?"

Yeah, that was definitely irritation.

Harry nodded and hastily made his way back onto the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley, clutching his bag of coins protectively. With a hand on his bag, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his acceptance letter.

Harry frowned. He'd already gone past several cauldron shops and at least half a dozen bookshops; he didn't know any of the good shops, just how the bloody hell was he going to be able to do this?

He finally decided to take an hour exploring the area in the hope that he'd be more enlightened before he started spending his money.

Ollivanders caught his eye very quickly and Harry had to consciously hold himself back from surging inside the wand shop.

There were shops selling all types of weird silver instruments and Harry wondered just what their use could possibly be.

A bookshop sprang into sight—Whizz Hard Book—as he turned a corner, claiming they had the lowest prices. Harry grinned and slipped inside. Harry was glad to see that these books didn't have that new books smell, he hated that smell. The books were neatly arranged into their shelves, stretching into the ceiling.

For as far as Harry could tell, there was nobody behind the counter. He cleared his throat. "Hello…

"Anybody home?"

"Why, yes, deary…"

Harry jumped and whirled about, but there was nobody there. A giggle sounded and Harry narrowed his eyes.

A head quite literally popped into view and Harry blinked in shock as his eyes landed on a floating head, covered in a mask so that only eyes were visible with large earrings protruding.

The woman's body followed her head and became visible. She was rather round around the stomach, with wrinkled, patchy hands and Harry peeled his eyes away, not wanting to offend her.

"Just an Invisibility cloak," she said with a giggle. "Not very common, but then again, neither is a child walking alone…" She narrowed her eyes and Harry shrugged, figuring she'd never believe him if he told her he'd been running the streets for years now. Well, sort of, anyway—Lisa had helped alot.

"You wouldn't happen to have school books in here, would you?"

The woman came a bit closer. "A Firstie, are you? I'm all stacked on First year books, I believe." She snatched the letter out of Harry's hands and took off, leaving Harry to trail after her like a lost puppy.

"Let's see: _A History of Magic… One Thousand Magic Herbs and Fungi… Magical Theory… Magical Drafts and Potions… A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_—hmm, it seems I'm out of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Preservation_—"

"That's alright, this is a smashing start."

"Lovely, then, dearie—come along, won't you? There a couple of books back here that someone like you absolutely must have." _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ joined the growing stack of books the woman was picking out for him and Harry began growing concerned, wondering just how he was going to carry all those books back home.

"And here, take this bag—it's expanded on the inside, by the way so you can stuff all those books inside, no trouble."

"Thanks, this is really gonna help out."


	5. Greener on the Other Side

Harry gave a roar of frustration and shoved his swing away. He watched in blissful satisfaction as the swing neared his face, coming just close enough to quicken his heart rate and get him bothered but not close enough to actually touch him and hurt him.

He was going to have to do it. He didn't really feel like it, honestly. He'd been hoping for a clean getaway, complete with no goodbye's and all that mushy shite; he'd much rather stay well clear of all that, thank you very much!

Then again, perhaps that would have forced the Durselys to actually contact the police about him. Unfortunately, what little Harry had read about the Wizarding World suggested that though contact with the normal world—the Muggle world, apparently—was limited, Wizards did end up in the Muggle world quite a bit.

That and—in all honesty, Harry was well and truly done with the Durlseys! He couldn't quite pin-point exactly what it was about them that irritated him so.

Maybe it was the fact that the Dursleys obviously must have known that he was a Wizard—and his sad excuse for guardians had just kept hush-hush about the whole thing. Even worse, they'd tried to beat it out of him—

Harry drank in a calming breath, figuring he wasn't doing himself a whole lot of favours getting all worked up.

He rubbed a hand across his face, and began resolutely making his way towards the Smith's residence, grateful for the cool wind and the dark. He rang the doorbell and waited patiently.

Mrs. Smith was a rather beautiful, blonde woman with a warm smile and electric blue eyes. "Harry!" She pulled Harry into a hug, and expertly smothered Harry's protest.

She let go of him and allowed him inside, ruffling his hair affectionately. "I hear you've been accepted to a boarding school in Scotland. Good on you, Harry."

Harry gave a shaky smile, a bit thrown off; Lisa hadn't told him she was going to be telling anyone about Hogwarts. Though, it was probably smart—it'd be hard to explain how he suddenly disappeared for nine months, otherwise.

"Thank you, Mrs. Smith."

"I already told you, Harry; it's Elisabeth to you. Now, what's the name of this school? I assume this is a recent development, yes…?" She made her way to the kitchen. "Would you like some orange juice, Harry?"

"Er, I guess…"

Harry heard the clanking sounds of glass clashing against glass, and the sound of liquid pouring and his mouth dried at the prospect of cold juice.

Harry graciously accepted the orange juice when Mrs. Smith returned and drank it down with gusto.

Mrs. Smith laughed as she took the glass back. "Thirsty, were you, young man?" Harry gave a guilty nod. "Good thing I got you that juice, then."

"Yeah, definitely… is Lisa home, by the way?" She was generally bundling down the stairs at the sound of his voice.

"She's upstairs; won't leave her room since getting accepted to Oxford—I thought she studied loads already but she's gone into overdrive the last few days: she's barely coming out to eat, and I don't think she's even showering."

Harry wrinkled his nose, wondering if he could reschedule this meeting for another time but decided against it: September First was but a few days away, after all.

"I'll take my chances; wish me luck."

Mrs. Smith's taunting laughter followed Harry up the stairs.

Harry hurried to Lisa's room, trying not to think about what had happened in this house the last time he'd been here. His knocks were insistent and hurried.

Lisa sounded disgruntled as she came to open him. "I'm not hungry, Mum, how many times do I have to tell… Oh… Hey, Harry!"

Harry smiled, simply glad to see Lisa. He dashed forward and enveloped her in a hug, catching her by surprise. Harry didn't even fidget or protest as she stroked his hair.

He pushed off of Lisa. "Man, am I glad to see you—and you don't even smell _that _bad!"

Lisa cocked a brow and shut the door. "Charming, Harry—"

"Amn't I always?" Harry made a beeline for Lisa's bed and sank into it.

Lisa rolled her eyes and went to her study table, pulling out the wooden chair. "So, what's up?"

"Just…" Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Come on, kiddo—you can't come in here and stall my studying and not say a damn word; this has better be worth it, I can't afford to flunk out of Oxford, you know."

Harry run a hand through his hair and sat up. "Nothing's up up—per se! It's just term's supposed to start in four days—"

"Okay…"

"Just…" Harry sighed, struggling to retain control of himself. "Just hear me out, yeah?"

Lisa raised her hands up in surrender.

"Listen, I love you—"

"Oh no, Harry—what are you doing?!"

"Lisa, listen!

"You've been my best friend ever since I was seven—you're basically my sister—"

"Aww, I think of you as a brother, too, Harreikins!"

"To all that's good and holy, Lisa, you're making this bloody impossible!" Harry sighed. "I'm leaving tonight, Lisa."

"What?!"

"The Dursleys have gotten on my last nerve—"

"Come sleep over then; I could use somebody to help me unwind anyways—"

Harry shook his head. "No, I need to—I mean, like experience the actual… That is to say—"

Harry sighed. This was actually rather difficult, he realized.

"Oh." Lisa suddenly looked a whole lot less cheerful, perhaps it was dawning on her that this was actually the last time they'd be seeing each other for a good while.

"I get it, Harry."

Harry glanced up hopefully.

"Yeah, I do—and if you feel you've got to go—"

"It's not you or anything—"

"No, of course not, Harry; it's just…" She sighed. "Goodness, this shite's hard!"

"I know, right?"

"I guess this is goodbye, then…"

Harry gave a tight smile. "Yeah…"

Lisa nodded weakly. "Right… Right!" she said, with much more conviction this time. She jabbed a thumb at Harry. "You best show them what you're made of, Harry—become the best damn wizard they've ever seen; fucking Pele of Wizardry."

"His name's Merlin, actually—"

"How the fuck would I know?"

Harry shrugged. He'd been doing a shit ton of reading, himself, the past week or so—furiously trying to educate himself on the Wizarding World, it's customs and history.

"I didn't want to make this an emotional thing—"

Lisa snorted and Harry noticed her eyes were lightly tear-stained. "Well, too late for that!" She sniffed and now, she was quite obviously on the verge of tears.

Harry sighed. "I have to ask one more favour of you; and I'm sorry I have to—"

"What is it, Harry?!"

"I need you to tell the Dursleys that I'm off to Hogwarts!"

Lisa frowned, sniffing and wiping at her eyes. "Don't they know that…?"

"Oh, they do! It's just… it's complicated—"

"Okay, fine, I'll do it—"

"You will? Brilliant! Oh, Lisa; you're a life-saver, you know that?!"

Lisa shrugged, smiling a radiant smile. "I might; come here, you!" She messed up his hair and embraced him warmly and Harry smiled contently, snuggling up to her.

He ended up staying for dinner and laughed loads with Lisa and her Mum. It was rather painful saying goodbye at the end; it'd been years since the atmosphere at the Smith's had been so light and free. Mr. Smith was on the highway to recovery, and Mrs. Smith was obviously more cheerful for it.

Harry tearfully bade the Smith's goodbye, and stepped back out into the cool, summer night. It was dark out, and Harry didn't come across Bilius or any of his other friends—for which he was eternally grateful. That would be an annoyingly awkward conversation, anyway.

Harry couldn't even stand to picture it, cringing.

Thankfully, Figg's home remained untouched—he'd been keeping his Wizarding trunk there, after all—and Harry quickly went about gathering his things, trying not to take too long thinking about what the house meant to him, the solitude it'd provided him. The laughs he'd laughed here, the life he'd lived here—

"You wanted me to become a Wizard, Figg—well, here goes!" Harry muttered to himself as he gathered before the house in sombre spirits. "I won't let you down, Figg—I promise!"

He wasn't going to be able to attend her funeral—if there was even going to be a funeral. Figg didn't have any family—outside of Harry, then—she'd always told him. Harry vowed to make sure that Figg—one day—got the funeral she so richly deserved.

Hours later, a physically and emotionally exhausted Harry rolled his trunk into the Leaky Cauldron.

It was fully packed—complete with trays floating about to their tables, dropping off drinks and steaming plates of food. Music blared overhead from a radio from a one Celestina Warbeck, but Harry could barely make out the lyrics over the chatter in the Inn.

Harry heaved a deep sigh and brazenly began making his way forward, glad for his skinny frame; he imagined Dudley would have a much more torrid time trying to wedge himself between the great cluster of people in the Inn.

A harried Harry burst to the front of the counter, hair damp, sweating profusely and twitching madly.

So when the bartender turned his sights on the lad behind Harry, asking what the man would like to drink to start off the night, Harry decided to open his mouth.

He cleared his throat. "Good evening, Mr. Tom—I mean no disrespect but I was before him!"

The bartender frowned and crept forward, glancing over the counter, finally spotting Harry.

Harry strained a smile, forcefully slapping his hair bangs down to cover his scar. He hoped the bartender hadn't recognized him yet—after all, as far as Harry could tell, "Tom" hadn't noticed that Harry James Potter, the so-called Boy-Who-Lived was standing before him and he'd even mistaken him for a Muggle-born the last time Harry had been here.

"Oh, my apologies, young man—just how can I help you this fine evening?"

Five minutes later, Harry found himself in a decently sized bedroom complete with a bed that promised a good-night rest, highly polished oak furniture, a crackling fire to keep him warm and a rather large mirror.

Harry turned around and parted with four galleons.

Tom gave Harry a mock salute. "Enjoy your night, kiddo!"

"Thanks, Tom!"

Harry was certain the barman hadn't even realized he was the same "Muggle-born" that he'd helped but a fortnight or so ago discover the Wizarding World.

With an easy shrug, Harry made quick work of getting into bed, his eyes growing heavier by the second.

He thought he heard a voice say, "Sleep tight" but by the time he'd woken up, he'd managed to convince himself that it was just a dream—if a very odd one.

* * *

"Well, that was a waste of time!" Harry grumbled to himself, morosely stomped out of The Junk Shop.

He'd chatted with Florean Fortescue last night—the owner of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour—and confessed to being bored out of his mind with nothing to do to while away the time before September First except reading, which was slowly killing him. Fortescue had burst out in laughter, but later on expressed his understanding, even stating, "It's unhealthy for a boy like yourself to read so much."

Harry liked reading at his Ice Cream Parlour because the man regularly gifted Harry ice-creams; he'd only had to pay for his first three, and thereafter, he'd quickly lost count of how many ice-creams Fortescue offered him over the past two days.

Yesterday, the shop owner had suggested a couple of shops that Harry check out to liven up his last day of freedom—"After all, after your first essay, Hogwarts loses it's charm, ain't that right, Tonks?"

The Junk Shop was the last of the shops on Fortescue's list—and Harry was coming to the conclusion that though Fortescue was bloody brilliant, a god in his own right, at making Ice-cram, he was utter shite at identifying locations to get up to some fun.

Harry stalked down Diagon Alley, cocking his neck about, in search of a store that could entertain him. Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop looked just bril—but unfortunately, it was closed.

Harry sighed, wondering if he should turn around and head back to Madam Malkins to pick up his school uniform order—after all, his Acceptance letter claimed that was what he was going to have to wear at Hogwarts.

A small gate caught Harry's eye at the end of the street. Dirty, rusty but not so much to attract attention. One could every easily miss it. Harry approached the gate cautiously, pausing to look behind his back every few seconds.

It was right smack between two shops—Second-Hand Robes and Second-Hand Bookshop—and a crooked sign, 'Knockturn Alley' dangled from above.

Harry smirked and pushed past the gate. "Figures that the Wizarding World has a bad part of town."

The streets were—not necessarily dirtier—older. They just looked more stained, blacker, like ash had been on it, and someone had valiantly tried to get it all off.

Harry turned the corner and immediately plastered an easy-going smile on his face as he came across a horde of people. It was similar to Diagon Alley in that there were several shops—though there was little to compare the two alley's in the condition the stores were in.

The streets were much smaller, as well, here in Knockturn—meaning that Harry couldn't avoid the attention that an eleven year-old would gather swaggering down the street. At least, he'd put on some Wizarding robes—he couldn't imagine what type of reaction he'd have gotten had he shown up here in his Muggle clothing.

He doubted the few people who bemusedly returned his nod would have done so.

"What d'you think you are doing?"

Harry looked up to find a sallow-skinned man looking down at him with the most unamused expression Harry had ever had the misfortune of encountering. He gulped and fidgeted under the man's relenting stare.

"I said: what d'you think you are doing?"

Harry opened his mouth but couldn't formulate a proper answer, and flushed.

"I see… Well then, let's get you back to Diagon Alley before you get yourself murdered down here—who knows, perhaps you won't turn out to be a complete dunderhead!"

Harry ducked his head, too mortified to protest as the man half led him, half dragged him back to Diagon Alley.

As Harry made his way to Madam Malkin's to pick up his school uniform, he vowed to return to Knockturn and give it a proper visit one day.

The next day dawned bright and early for Harry.

His eyes snapped open and his face almost immediately stretched into a wide grin. Today was the start of his new life. Or the re-entrance into a new life, he supposed.

Harry drew back the curtains, squinting at the ray of sunlight without a word of protest.

"Hogwarts, here I come!"

Harry grabbed his wand off the counter and rattled off the Tempus spell. "Bloody hell!"

"Watch your language!" the Mirror chastised him in a monotone voice, obviously still half asleep.

"No wonder; it's only seven o'clock in the bloody morning!"

Harry hadn't been up this early since… Well, quite a while. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd been up this early.

He huffed to himself, remembering Fortescue whisking him off to bed at eight, wishing him luck for Hogwarts. All in the name of "needing sleep", which was utter nonsense, considering Harry regularly stayed out until after eleven but then again, the Ice-Cream seller didn't know—and didn't need to know—that.

Harry had accepted Fortescue's dismissal without too much of a fuss—he'd been losing quite horribly at Exploding Snap anyway—and retreated to his room, getting started on _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Two_. He'd mastered all the spells in Grade One earlier that day, after all.

Hours later—after a relaxing and most thorough shower, a proper English breakfast that set Harry a whole three galleons back and put a smile on Tom's face, a trip to Gringotts, and mastering three separate spells in _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Two_—Harry recast the Tempus spell, and found his results much more satisfying.

"Ten—now, that I can work with it!"

Harry made short work of packing—he'd practically been packed up for days in his excitement and before long, he was dragging his trunk out across the Leaky Cauldron.

Tom caught sight of his struggle and easily made his way out from behind the counter.

The Inn was empty—a far cry from when Harry had come up for his breakfast a couple of hours ago—with nothing to see but animated rags dusting off tables and buckets of soapy water determinedly giving chase.

Tom was smiling his famous walnut smile and Harry made sure to keep his expression straight. "Need some help with that?"

Harry nodded easily, beaming as Tom brought out his wand and performed the Feather-Light Charm.

"Thanks, Tom—you've been a real blessing these last few days!"

Tom laughed and waved him off. "Oh, no issue here, lad—It's been a pleasure; you finally going to give me your name?"

Harry winced. "You don't have to!—Merlin above, of course not, just thought it'd make communicating a touch easier." Tom laughed a booming laugh.

Harry shared a small smile. "I've got to go, Tom."

Tom's disappointed face nodding stayed with Harry the whole walk down to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. It wasn't all that long of a walk but Harry very quickly regretted his decision not to go via the Tube—or even con Fortescue into Apparating him there or something.

Just as he arrived at the Platform, an astounding weight developed within Harry's hand and he cursed, realizing the charm had worn off.

A police officer fixed Harry with a properly disgusted face and made himself scarce, pointedly giving Harry a wide berth. Harry sneered at him and wrapped his hand around his trunk, beginning to get into a bit of a tizzy as it dawned on him that he didn't actually know where Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters was.

He knew one was supposed to run though the wall, and thereby get onto the platform—but for the life of him, Harry couldn't figure out which wall they were referring to.

"Is that…?"

Harry shook his head, bemused and warily began approaching the figure.

"Moony?"

The man looked just as shabby as the last time they'd met. His hair looked undone—and his face was slowly bleeding from a fresh-looking cut. The man looked tired, as well, standing with a little slump and Harry thought he was leaning against the wall for support but his eyes danced with excitement that captured Harry.

"Harry!" Moony rushed forward and enveloped Harry in a hug that Harry failed to return, holding on to his trunk for dear life. Should it topple to the ground, Harry figured he was very properly done for.

Moony pulled away, still beaming a blinding smile. "I realized that I didn't tell you how to get onto the Platform—"

Harry nodded. "Walk through the wall, I know!"

Moony blinked at him in shock. "Oh!" He stepped away from Harry, standing up fully and Harry marvelled again at the odd combination of frail and length that the man had. "Well then, I suppose I've been waiting here for no reason at all—I've been holding you up, I have, probably, haven't—"

"D'you know which wall I need to go through?"

Moony flushed at Harry, opening his mouth and closing his mouth in obvious confusion.

A family of red-heads pulled up behind Harry and as Harry inspected their clothes, their mannerisms, their friggin' Wizarding trunks, Harry realized it was a Wizarding family heading to Hogwarts just like him…

Harry made to open his mouth—

"Its this wall, Harry—come on!" Harry turned to Moony frowning before giving a shrug of acceptance.

It did make sense—after all, why else would the family pull up behind him, talking rather loudly about Muggles.

He gathered his Trunk, and—not for the first time—thanked the gods that Hedwig, his black eagle owl, had made her way to Hogwarts on her own; at least, he hoped she'd gone to Hogwarts like he'd told her to. It'd have been quite a job trying to handle her on top of his trunk.

"Remember, Harry—you can write me for anything, at all, I'm all ears! And who knows, maybe I can even help you! Write me about what House you get, yeah?"

Harry smiled at that. "I just might." He took off at a gallop that rapidly turned into a run, remembering Fortescue's words—"Best to take it at a run!"


	6. First Impressions

The platform was teeming with students pushing their trunks about, parents searching for a last embrace... A huge scarlet train was puffing, chucking and billowing smoke sitting on the tracks.

Fortescue had told him about it, of course—but still, Harry spent a few seconds gaping before the arrival of the red-headed family behind him spurred him into action.

Harry grabbed onto his trunk and began making his way towards the train, but booking progress was easier said than done.

The obstacles hardly ended at the swarm of people littering the platform, exchanging embraces and in several cases—kisses and tears—there were also cats chasing rats about, meowing and hissing as they went, owls bursting out of their cages, screeching and flapping their wings as their distressed owners gave chase—

And Harry was almost certain a frog hopped off his head but it had been so quick he couldn't quite put his life on it.

Finally—after one of the red-heads offered to heft his trunk onto the train—Harry escaped the mob and began dragging his trunk down the train in search of an empty compartment.

He had to walk all the way to the back of the train to find an empty compartment—just as the train lurched forward, Harry pulled open a compartment door and began making himself at home.

He plastered his face against the window, watching as just the parents remained on the platform, waved and blew kisses to their children on the train with just a touch of longing.

He peeled his eyes away, wondering if his parents would have done similar if they were still alive—if Voldemort hadn't—

The compartment door pulled open and Harry glanced up.

It was a red-head, and Harry was certain he was a part of that family he'd come across outside the Platform. His mother and—incredibly enthusiastic in her farewell—his sister had waved as the train picked up speed.

The boy seemed to recognize Harry, as well. "Oh, it's you!—can I sit here? Everywhere else is full."

Harry sighed. He couldn't really dispute that; after all, he'd seen it for himself. "Go on ahead."

"Brilliant!" The boy burst into a wide smile and rushed into the compartment, filling up the seat across Harry and propping his feet up across the small table laid up before them. "Name's Ron Weasley, by the way—bet you saw my family on the train, didn't you?"

Harry shrugged at the boy. "Large family."

That seemed to dampen the boy's fire a bit and Harry chuckled inside. "Er… Yeah… Anyway, what's your name?"

Now, this was where Harry was a bit uncertain. He'd seen himself a few times in the bloody paper, reporters speculating on which House he'd end up in—and nobody had even bloody seen nor heard from him! Harry shuddered to think what they'd do if—well, when, really—they did!

"James." It wasn't a lie.

The red-head nodded and glanced out the window, perhaps realizing Harry wasn't going to be offering him any stirring conversation.

The compartment door pulled open and the bloke who'd helped Harry get his trunk onto the train stepped inside. "Oh good, Ronneikins—"

Harry snorted and the boy stiffened, outraged. "Fred!"

The boy—Fred—winked at Harry and focused on Ron Weasley, feigning a look of confused innocence. "Did I say something?"

Ron—or Ronneikins—was scowling something fierce and Harry was furiously trying to hold in his laugh. "Was there something you wanted, Fred? Or was embarrassing me good enough for you?"

Fred chuckled and stepped out of the compartment, his hands closing around the compartment door.

"That'll be enough for now—I actually just came down to ask if you wanted to see the giant tarantula that Lee's got up ahead."

'Ronneikins' gave a shrill scream, jumping in his seat and Harry finally lost the battle with himself, giving in to the giggles. Fred closed the compartment door, his laugh echoing from the corridor.

"He's a menace, he is—always picking on me, I swear I'm going to write Mum about this—"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I can't believe you're a Mummy's boy, I'd actually thought you were decent."

The boy flushed, looking faintly triggered and Harry smirked, beginning to enjoy himself a bit. What a pushover. "You don't know what it's like living with six older brothers, and those two—the Twins—might as well be bloody demons—"

"Oh, I'm sure!"

Weasley scowled at Harry's sarcasm. "How's your home situation like, then, James? Bet you're a Daddy's boy—with those posh boy clothes!"

Harry blinked at that, hastily rearranging his face into a casual smirk. "Wouldn't you like to know? We can't all be wearing rags now, can we?" Harry gave Weasley a pointed look.

Weasley huffed and glanced out of the window.

"So, scared of spiders, are you? You're such a wuss!"

The boy flushed and fixed Harry with a glare, and Harry noticed that his fists were clenched and he was leaning forward—and for a moment, he was panicked; after all, should this twat actually sock him right now, he didn't have a whole lot of room to defend himself. And to top it off, considering the bloke came from a wizarding family, he probably already knew some curses.

"I'll have you know—my family's been Gryffindor for ages! So shut—"

"Bet you end up being the first to go somewhere else—you look like quite the 'Puff to me!"

The boy rose to his feet and Harry felt—more than anything—his eyes stretch wide and the rather familiar feeling of fear grab him.

A clattering sound began building in the corridor and the boy exchanged a confused look with Harry as the compartment door once again slid open. A smiling, dimpled woman stood behind the door, pulling a trolley. "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Harry thought back to his rather large breakfast and shook his head, and Weasley slumped back into his seat muttering something about sandwiches.

The trolley lady shut the door behind her, her smile nothing more than a memory as her clattering trolley took her away.

Weasley glanced out of the window and Harry followed his example, noting that they were already quite a ways away from the city, now speeding past long fields of grass and he thought he even made out a cow or two—

"So what House d'you want to go to, anyway?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't really care—I don't think anyone's going to care what House you were in at Hogwarts outside of Hogwarts, honestly," he said with a chuckle.

Weasley frowned at that. "I dunno—I definitely wouldn't be hiring some slimy Slytherin if I owned a shop."

Harry run a hand through his hair, bending down to fetch a book out of his trunk. "First off, that's irrelevant, because there's no chance of _you _ever owning a store—"

"What's that 'posed to be mean?" Weasley leaned forward, eyebrows scrunched up.

"Secondly, that's right daft of you, not hiring Slytherins, they're supposed to right ambitious and crafty, aren't they?"

Harry glanced up to find Weasley gaping at him like an idiot. "What is it?"

Weasley made an effort to get some words out but Harry couldn't understand a single word of it. He rose his hands and pointed at Harry's head, wide-eyed and looking starstruck and Harry felt his stomach drop, beginning to suspect what this was about.

Voices began sounding in the corridor. "It's no use, Hermione—he's never liked me, I tell you—"

"Well, that type of thinking does us absolutely no good, Neville—think positive!"

The compartment door slammed open once more and Harry took in a deep breath, beginning to wonder if this was a normal train ride: all the interruptions. Perhaps there was another way to make it to Hogwarts because he didn't all too much fancy having to meet all these—well, they were probably twerps.

Harry sat up in his seat, and did his best to let the bushy-haired girl who'd burst into the compartment know just how he felt about her barging in. She didn't seem all too fazed—at least, if she was, she didn't do all that well letting Harry know with her beaming smile. A round-faced boy stood to her side, looking dejected and solemn. Harry grit his teeth.

"Neville here has lost his toad—you wouldn't happen to have seen one, would you?" She had an irritatingly bossy voice. Harry never did get on too well with authority figures.

Harry did a mock search. "Nope, thanks for stopping by, though; see yourself out the same way you let yourself in, won't you?"

The girl frowned at him and slid into the seat next to Weasley. The boy—Neville, wasn't it?—remained standing, looking increasingly awkward as Harry remained in his seat, not even budging an inch.

"That's incredibly rude, you know—"

Harry sneered at her. "Oh, really?—and I suppose barging into my compartment and demanding—"

"It's not your compartment and I didn't _demand _anything—I just wanted to help Neville, he's lost his toad—"

"I heard you the first time—"

"Hermione." She smiled and Harry caught sight of her rather large front teeth. "I assume you're a first year, as well…" Harry felt like contradicting her, make up a wild story where he was actually a second-year that had been slighted by his body refusing to grow in the summer but he couldn't quite get the will up. "I'm Hermione Granger! Probably should've started with that on second thought. He's Neville Longbottom—"

"I can talk for myself!" Longbottom cut in, flushed.

Harry doubted that, really.

Granger grimaced. "Right. And you are?"

Weasley cleared his throat, apparently uncomfortable with all the attention on him. Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm Ron. Ron Weasley—"

"Also known as 'Ronneikins'," Harry interjected, smiling. Weasley scowled at him, quite unamused at his antics—as if he cared!

"That's Harry Potter!—"

"Wait—_the _Harry Potter?"

Harry glared daggers at Weasley and the boy smiled right back at Harry; Harry snarled.

The girl was practically jumping in her seat now. "Have you done any of the spells yet? Did they work for you?" Harry blinked at her speed, and he actually had to hold himself back from asking if she rapped. "I have, and they all worked for me. I read all about you in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and The Fall of the Dark Arts_, of course—oh, I can't believe I'm actually meeting you; you're something of a celebrity, you know!"

Longbottom gave Harry a pitying look and Harry fixed Weasley with a murderous glare that promised revenge. Weasley just smiled back sweetly.

Harry dug out his wand, suddenly itching to do—something. "How would you have me demonstrate my skill, Granger? Would you like me to charm your hair bright pink? Or would you prefer if I charmed you bald? I reckon you'd look smashing without hair: it'd certainly be an upgrade on what you've got going on right now, honestly. Or perhaps I could fix those horrid teeth that you have over there!" Harry finished with a relish, laughing to himself.

The girl shot to her feet, fixing Harry with a hurt look. Harry mockingly placed a hand over his heart, laughing as she dragged a flustered Longbottom out of the compartment. The door slammed shut behind them with a resounding bang and they were left alone again.

"That was bloody brilliant!"

Harry fixed Weasley with an irritated look. "Oh, stuff it, you—it was thanks to you I had to suffer through that in the first place."

"Oh, come on—that was plenty fun, don't act like you didn't enjoy putting that girl in her place—"

"I'd rather have avoided having to see her teeth."

Weasley snorted, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"D'you really know to change hair-colour? And make people bald? And change teeth and stuff?"

Harry smirked at Weasley. "Don't start fretting already, Weasley—we're not even at Hogwarts yet." Weasley gulped at that and Harry laughed.

"You're bloody scary, mate, you know that?!"

Harry shrugged and pushed to his feet. "I'm going to the loo."

There were a few people gathered up in the corridor, bustling about. Harry easily found the loo, glad for the moment he got to himself. He'd hoped to spend the ride by himself (pick up some new spells, maybe) but Weasley—and then Longbottom and Granger—had shat right all over that plan.

There was quite a line, however.

The bloke before him had his hands full with what Harry was guessing was his girlfriend—Harry grit his teeth together in frustration as the lad remained standing as the line steadily grew shorter.

After the last person emerged from the loo, and the boy leaned into his girlfriend, causing a bout of shrill laughter from the girl—Harry snapped, and decided to just overtake the idiot.

He was almost disappointed that the boy didn't even realize that someone had overtaken him—in fact, when Harry returned from the loo, a whole new group of people had overtaken the boy; and yet the boy and his girlfriend remained none the wiser.

Harry shook his head all the way back to the compartment, noticing that it'd gotten rather dark outside. Night was almost here.

He slipped back in the compartment, catching Weasley slowly picking his sandwich apart, looking less than thrilled.

"What's the matter, Weasley? Don't like Mummy's hand-made sandwich?"

Weasley mumbled something under his breath, and Harry wondered if he should try to interpret that. He finally shrugged, figuring it wasn't worth the hassle.

He dug into his trunk, placing his book back, figuring there wasn't anything going to come of that, and pulled out his school uniform—everybody had already changed into their uniform outside, after all.

Footfalls began sounding outside and Harry groaned, sinking into his seat. Weasley frowned and Harry just waved at the compartment door as it was pulled open for the fourth time that afternoon.

"Well, I know it's not you, Weasley!" It was a blonde-haired boy. His hair was well-done, not a single hair out of place. His robes were expensive, just like Harry's but they seemed to compliment the boy better, fit better, snug—Harry frowned down at his own robes, feeling oddly inferior.

The boy focused his stormy grey eyes on Harry, and he straightened in his seat. "I assume you're Harry Potter…"

Harry shrugged. "Who's asking?"

"That's Malfoy—his family's all as—"

Blondie directed an impressively dark glare Weasley's way. "I can speak for myself, Weasley, thank you very much. If I need someone to communicate for me, I'll make sure to keep you in mind—I'm sure you could use the gold!"

Weasley frowned, fists clenched. "Better poor in gold than poor in morals!"

Harry blinked, observing the glaring match going on before him with intrigue. "Do you two know each other?"

"There is no poorer family in Wizarding Britain, Potter—I'd suggest you check your money pouch and make sure this idiot hasn't nicked some of your gold. It's probably more than he has ever seen."

"Screw you, Malfoy! I'd rather be dirt poor than you!"

"That's not hard to prove—you already are!" He smoothed his hair and turned back to Harry, gave him a smile that Harry thought was supposed to be reassuring. "So, what d'you say, Potter? I've still got space in my compartment—and otherwise I can always kick Crabbe and Goyle out, that'd be enough for Weasley over there's family home, no joke. The stench must be getting to you, it's certainly getting to me." He wrinkled his nose and laughed.

Harry run a hand through his hair. It was a decent offer, really. "I would—just I really don't fancy dragging my trunk, so I guess my answer is no…"

A voice blared overhead shortly afterwards, informing them that they'd be arriving at Hogwarts in ten short minutes. The conductor also strongly advised the students to leave their trunks on the train, as they'd be taken to the castle separately.

Malfoy sneered at Harry. "This isn't over, Potter—don't say I didn't warn you!"

Harry blinked at the rattling compartment door, wondering if the blonde boy actually thought he instilled fear within Harry.

The rush for the door when the train skidded to a halt was comically typical and expected—Harry, rather experienced in making his way through crowds, was the very first to hop off the train onto the dark platform.

It was a cool night with a soft breeze and the night had a weak "whoosh" to it; Harry drank it in greedily in the dark, cocking his head about, wondering if something and what was supposed to happen.

The other students had all budged off already and left the first-years all alone and Harry was beginning to feel like they were supposed to take after them—but just as that idea hit him, the last of the students disappeared from his range of vision and he slumped in disappointment.

Mutterings began erupting the students, wondering just how they could have mucked things up so quickly in their Hogwarts career.

A lantern washed over them and sighs of relief went through the students, Harry included.

"Sorry 'bout that; had a bit o' a hold up with me dog, Fang." He had a booming, hollering voice and as his face came into view, a shriek went off: he was a giant of a man, with a wild, bushy beard. Harry took a cautious step back.

His small, beady eyes inspected them all and his large face slumped as he rounded off his inspection. Harry frowned, wondering what had caused that reaction.

"Well, come on then, firs' years, follow me!"

The students slowly shook out of their stupor, following after the man. They didn't stay on the platform too long; before long, they found themselves tumbling along a narrow, steep path. Harry squinted in the dark, barely making out thick trees on their sides.

He held himself from touching them, not willing to risk it. Who knew what type of deadly plant it could be, after all?

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec. Jus' round this bend here."

"Wooooah!"

The giant man hadn't been gassing: it was rather nice. They were on the edge of a lake and directly across from them, snaking across the side was the castle. The moonlight seemed to make it shine in the night, and the windows glowed, the towers standing proudly, almost defiantly roaring into the skies.

"Well, slap me on the arse and call me Mary!" he muttered to himself, hastening into a boat.

Three other girls joined him in the boat, and he spared each of them a nod, still focused on the castle. To think, he was going to be staying there for the better part of a year.

The boat suddenly tugged forward, giving a lurch and Harry noticed that they were going as one. The boat pulled them across the glassy surface into a dark cavern. Harry was suddenly very glad for the giant man's lantern, he'd have been on the verge of panicking otherwise.

The boat came to a very abrupt stop and the giant man began clambering out of his boat with some proper difficulty.

Harry snorted, expertly climbing out of his boat. Lanterns flared to life around him, presenting a fabulous set of steps leading up to an imposing darkly handsome oak door. The giant man finally managed the climb. "Good thing you took a boat for yourself, eh?"

The man gave a booming laugh and nodded. "Got that righ'!"

He climbed up the stairs and Harry followed after him, not bothering to wait on the other students that were still finishing off the climb. Before long, everyone had gathered around the oak door, some of them looking wet and Harry snorted.

"Every'ne here? Good." He gave a knock, and the door snapped open almost immediately.

A tall, black-haired witch, her hair in tight bun dressed in emerald-green robes met them. She had an incredibly stern face and he didn't think she'd let her bun down in ages. He straightened his back immediately.

"The first years, Professor McGonogall."

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."


	7. A Whole New World

Harry was more than overjoyed to leave the Entrance Hall—it was stuffy in there and overcrowded. To make matters worse, McGonogall had done a bang-up job getting everybody in a tizzy with her speech.

Even that chatty bushy-haired girl had given in to a bout of insanity suggesting that the first-years perhaps had to duel each other.

Harry personally hoped that was the case: he'd love to wipe the ground with her. Well, unless it turned out she knew more spells than he did—in which case he was properly fucked but that was life, wasn't it?

The Great Hall turned out to be quite a marvel.

They had light thanks to these floating candles over four long tables, housing the rest of the students. They were seated on benches over four long tables and Harry spotted several students impatiently holding their golden utensils, glaring at the first-years as they walked past them. At the top of the hall, the teachers were seated along a long table with golden plates and goblets just like the students had. Harry made out Professor Dumbledore seated in the middle on his golden stool, looking even more eccentric in his purple robes, with moonlight scattered over it than he'd looked in the paper three days ago.

Professor McGonagall had them line up so that they were facing the students, back to the teachers.

Harry stared back almost defiantly as the students stared at the students like fresh meat, dissecting them. Harry could almost hear their thoughts ringing in his head, wondering what House he'd go to.

Professor McGonagall returned with a four-legged stool in hand. She placed the stool before them, and slapped a pointed wizard's hat above it. For a good few seconds, there was silence and Harry huffed, wondering just what all the circus was about, surely they didn't have to try and get a rabbit or some other rubbish—bloody Fortescue and his "tradition not to know how the Sorting works!".

The hat twitched—and then before his very eyes, a brim opened, just like a mouth, and the hat began to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring nerve and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffis are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin, you'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on!

Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The Hall burst into applause and Harry dubiously copied. The first years were exchanging relieved comments. "I'll murder Fred—wrestle a troll, my arse!"

Harry snorted and gave McGonogall his attention as she unrolled an impressively long roll of parchment. He couldn't help but wonder just how much difficulty one would have in trying to nick such a parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted," she said. Harry got the impression she went through the cycle every year, she sounded so monotone. She glanced down at her parchment, adjusting her spectacles.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

Abbott turned out to be a blonde, pig-tailed girl trembling with the jitters. The Hat declared her a "Hufflepuff" not long after she put it on and she went to take her place at the table on the right. Harry spied a ghost that he thought was a monk looking very smug at the latest acquisition and shook his head in bemusement.

A red-headed witch with her hair plaited skipped over to join Abbott and the two embraced, squealing in delight under the yellow-and-black banner proudly displaying a badger.

"Boot, Terry!" was a rather serious type Harry felt.

Ravenclaw table—second table from the left—looked rather happy to have him, several standing up to shake his hands.

"Brown, Lavender" joined Gryffindor minutes later and Harry gaped at the thunderous response she got, beginning to understand why Weasley was so hung up on going to Gryffindor. He even made out the Twins catcalling and a boy with dreadlocks next to them banging on the table, making the table thrill a bit.

Then "Bulstrode, Millicent" joined Slytherin and she barely got any polite applause as she snuck underneath the green and silver banner, looking resigned.

Harry quickly bored of the process, barely paying enough attention to applaud with everyone else; Granger had the Hat occupied for over a minute before it declared her—shockingly—a Gryffindor.

Even the Gryffindors looked a bit blue at their latest acquisition, their reaction noticeably tame. Granger, however, was properly encouraged by the Hat's declaration and almost flew down to the Gryffindor table, a blindingly wide smile on her face. Harry blinked in shock.

"Longbottom, Neville!" joined Gryffindor soon after and Harry began wondering just what type of criteria the Hat was using to Sort these people.

"Malfoy, Draco!" swaggered forward when his name was called tearing Harry's attention from the Hat's incompetence—

"SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy looked properly smug with getting Slytherin, and Harry noticed that the Slytherins had made a conscious effort to applaud Malfoy. It wasn't anything ridiculous like the Weasleys were coming up with, mind—but you could hear them whistling and clapping their approval, it was more than they'd done for any other Slytherin first-year. Malfoy slid in between a pair of rather large boys and patted a stray blonde hair, a regal smirk on his face.

A succession of girls took to the stand and finally—

"Potter, Harry!"

Harry very consciously put a confident step forward and made his way to the stool.

"Potter, did she say?"

"Merlin, it's Harry Potter!"

"Bet you a galleon he goes to the Lions!"

His eyes connected with a Professor and they widened as he recognized him from Knockturn. Harry smirked and jabbed on the Hat.

"_Well, well, well... What do we have here? A Potter, eh? Haven't had you lot in a fair bit... Brilliant, there's no doubt—Oh, what talent do we have here..._" The Hat chuckled in his mind and Harry flinched. "_And a thirst to prove yourself as well—why this is very interesting. Where would you like to go, young man_?"

_Isn't that why you're here on my head_?

The Hat laughed. "_Perhaps, perhaps. You want to be great, I se_e—"

Harry scowled. _I need to be great_!

"SLYTHERIN!"

Harry took off the Hat to stunned silence. He handed the Hat to a limp McGonagall, her mouth open just a tad, and eyes wide. Harry smirked and swaggered down to the Slytherin table.

He had to make a conscious effort to hold his smirk as he realized that even the Slytherins weren't applauding his arrival. In fact, they were looking at him like he was a ghost—and even worse, nobody was budging up for him to seat beside them.

"Hey, guys—I'm not the ghost, that's him right there." He pointed at the ghost hovering behind the table covered in silver bloodstains, carrying chains. It was a bad, weak joke but at least it was a joke.

Nobody laughed and they stared back at Harry like they didn't quite believe they were seeing him.

He sighed and quietly slid in at the edge of the bench, beside a weedy lad that nodded and introduced himself to be a one "Pike with a K!"

Harry sighed, hoping the feast would come to an end sooner rather than later. Already he was dreading his whole school career.

Nobody spoke to him through the feast, which didn't bother him all that much—he wasn't all too interested in joining in with Pike and Bulstrode as they discussed the social events of the summer.

He ignored all the glaring that came his way as the feast went on, getting progressively more worried as he realized the Slytherins were doing quite a fair bit of the glaring themselves. These were his housemates, after all—if anybody could inflict any real harm upon him, it'd be them, innit?

Harry couldn't believe it—he'd thought Hogwarts would definitely be different from grade school. Going on this, he wasn't all that hopeful.

Finally, the feast rounded off with the Headmaster giving the announcements. Harry rolled his eyes at them, he was already very familiar with the rules, after all—he prided himself on always knowing the rules wherever he was.

He lingered behind with the other first years as an older girl came forward.

Harry immediately noted the badge on her chest—Prefect.

"My name is Gemma Farley—I'm a fifth year prefect. If you would follow me..."

That was as far as her courtesy extended. The first-year Slytherins followed after her as they headed out of the Hall, to the left and down a dark, narrow staircases barely lit by torches.

Harry noticed he was lagging behind the other first-years and quickly sped up.

"...the Dungeons. Our dormitories are down here, so I suggest you take good note of the route we just took because it'll be a route you take daily throughout your time at Hogwarts."

They walked further, the corridors bending and twisting and the wind getting cooler. Harry shivered as his teeth began clattering. His house-mates looked similarly cold.

They passed by a particularly solemn door and there was this strong odour in the air all of a sudden.

"That was Professor Snape's classroom—Potions class. His office is right around here, as well—you're encouraged to go to him only if you feel like your problem cannot be solved by the prefects; don't say I didn't warn you! And besides, nobody likes a squealer!"

She continued to walk with her back to them. "There are a couple of unofficial rules that you'd be wise to follow during your time here at Hogwarts as a member of Slytherin House: first of all," and here she turned around, startling them, "Don't get caught! I'm serious, whatever you do—do not get caught and cost Slytherin House points. Is that clear?"

Harry nodded like a good little boy with his House mates and the Prefect Farley nodded and began walking again, taking a sharp right.

"Rule number two: Whatever happens in Slytherin, stays in Slytherin!" They stopped before a blank patch of wall and Harry arched a brow, wondering if there was anything else Farley had to get off her chest.

"This here is the entrance to the common room—known amongst as us 'Snakes' as 'the Dungeons'. The password changes every week and you can find the new one on the Notice Board inside. One more thing: it is a no-no to share the Slytherin password with anyone from another House—an outsider hasn't been inside the Dungeons for over seven centuries; you do _not _want to be the one to break that record, trust me! Felix Felicis!"

Farley led them through the doorway, a dim glowing orb guiding her. "Welcome to the Slytherin Dungeons—for the next seven years, you'll probably spend most of your free time here. Be warned, however: upper-years get first say with the couches."

Harry glanced around the circular room with interest; he was to live here, after all. It was rather dark in here, even with the green glow coming from a hanging snake on the ceiling, it reminded him more of a cave than anything. It seemed like the snake was hissing and spitting, but instead of venom: light. That was rather cool. The room had a green-tinge to it, wet—they had to be under the lake. Harry didn't think the couches were going to a be a problem.

Okay, true: there was only one large button-tufted couch close to the furnished fireplace (and it was currently occupied by four large boys sneering at Harry)—but besides that, the room was littered with black leather couches all over the room, more than enough for everybody, and even the floor looked rather comfortable to sit on.

There were dark wooden tables and cupboards positioned at various points. Medieval tapestries hung from the wall, a snake coiled around it's frame—respected Slytherin alumni, no doubt. Harry wondered if he'd ever make it on there.

Nobody was likely to call the Slytherin Dungeons 'welcoming', but then again, Harry didn't want welcoming. This! This was more his taste. It was chilly, it was bleak—it was Harry.

Farley clapped her hands. "Right then—boys dormitories are on the right; girls on the left. Off with you lot!"

The first-years split up at the fireplace, the boys going right and the girls going left. The boy Harry had seen outside the loo on the train with his girlfriend bared his teeth at Harry threateningly as Harry passed and he stared back, refusing to be cowed. The staircase took them down, sparsely lit by what Harry realized were glowing human skulls.

The staircase brought them to a long corridor with seven green doors, each with a large silver number displayed on it.

Harry made quick work of finding the first-year dormitory, ignoring the other first-years trailing after him.

There were six beds and Harry quickly moved to the bed closest to the window—incidentally also furthest from the bathroom, all the way at the other wall. His trunk floated and landed next to his bed on its own accord and Harry chuckled, noticing that similar was happening with the others.

Malfoy was to be the housemate beside him, it seemed.

Harry dug into his trunk, fishing for his pyjamas. He winced at the cold stone floor but kept his mouth hush.

"Made it to Slytherin, I see—maybe I judged you too soon, Potter." Malfoy was still in his school uniform and he had this smarmy smile on his face. He approached Harry with an extended hand and Harry glanced it with contempt.

"What happened to 'you'll regret this, Potter!'" Harry mocked the boy and ducked under his bed.

Malfoy coloured slightly at Harry's words, his jaw tightening and his eyes narrowing.

"You've made your bed now, Potter—enjoy lying in it!"

Harry simulated a shiver of fear. "I most certainly will; Gnight, ponce!" He drew his curtains.

It wasn't the brightest move ever but Harry really didn't feel he had all too much to fear from a dorm-mate. Thinking back on all the spells Harry had mastered over the past few weeks, he smiled into his pillow, sagging into an easy slumber.

His eyes snapped open somewhere in the night.

He cursed softly, his hands going down to his bladder.

Perhaps he'd overindulged at the Feast, hands full with the revelation that all of Hogwarts hated him.

He stretched out to his nightstand, grabbing his wand, and whispered, "Tempus!" It was almost one. Harry huffed and crawled out of bed, deciding he was better off just going to relieve himself and getting back to sleep.

Voices out in the corridor stopped him cold.

It was grunting, gruff—teenage boys.

Harry stilled and waited until he couldn't hear them anymore before he went to the loo. He flushed and turned to go back to sleep, when sudden footfalls stopped him.

"Hurry up!"

"Come on, I bet he's sleeping already!"

Harry frowned at that, eyes scrunched in the darkness, wondering what the actual fuck was going on out there.

Their bedroom door creaked open, and suddenly his heart rate rocketed up and his stomach sank as he saw two boys storm into the room. "Come out, come out, Potter—your time's come!"

Harry ducked behind the door in the bathroom, heart beating wildly, clutching his wand for dear life. He ran over all the offensive spells he knew and whimpered as he realized that these blighters—they looked like they were at least fourth-years—probably knew how to defend against them.

He slid down against the wall, taking care not to make a peep, straining his ear to keep on top of happenings.

There was this shuffling noise and Harry frowned in confusion.

"The earlier you come out—the faster we can get this over with, Potter!"

"That's his bed right there!"

Harry gasped—fucking Malfoy, the sell-out. Okay, they weren't friends or anything like that—in fact, they were well on their way to becoming arch-enemies—but it was the principle of the matter.

Footfalls sounded and disappointed, angry curses flew off: "Where the fuck is he?"

"Guess he run away—"

"That's not fucking possible—we've been upstairs this whole time!"

"Maybe he run out just now!"

The other boy gave a roar of frustration.

"It's past curfew—"

"Yeah—so, what, Malfoy?!"

'Blondie' huffed obviously not very happy with the way in which they spoke to him. "We're not allowed out past curfew—if we were tell Professor Snape that Potter was out there breaking curfew… He probably hates Potter, as well, you know…"

The boys were all making noises and agreement and Harry let his head fall into his hands, his insides cold at the noise. "Isn't that squealing, though?"

"Whose side are you on, Theodore?!" Malfoy sounded right furious.

"Lights!" someone grunted and a whirring sound went off.

"Oi! Some of us are trying to sleep over here, mind you!"

"Piss off, Zabini—this here's more important than your sleep!"

"Suck it, Malfoy—Potter's outwitted you without even trying. And you lot—since you've got such a brilliant plan all worked, just why are you still here anyways?"

"I'd watch my tone if I was you, boy!"

"I'll make sure to remember that!—but now, you were leaving, weren't you?"

There was muffled grumbling and shuffling of feet. The door creaked open and slammed shut. There was the ruffling of sheets being drawn and students slipping back into bed. Harry waited with baited breath.

"I hope Potter gets what's coming to him!" Malfoy laughed a booming laugh that sickened Harry.

Nobody responded but Harry gulped as the revelation finally hit him: his House was out to get him. Just how the bloody fuck was he going to survive? And even the fucking Head of House hated him, apparently.

He was well and properly screwed.

He stayed there for a good while, slumped against the wall, running his hand across his face and clutching his wand very tight even though his hands were clammy.

Just what was he going to do?

He sighed and pushed to his feet, deciding that the stress was too much to deal with. He stepped out of the bathroom and tiptoed to the door, making sure to be as quiet as possible. He grabbed onto the doorknob and twisted. The door made quite a creak and Harry gasped, cringing.

He turned around sharply, his shoulders prickling and his hair erect and alert. He made out eyes observing him but as he blinked again, there was nothing there.

Harry cursed the dark and his lack of balls. He slunk past the door and slowly brought it to a close. The corridor was dark and silent: it seemed the boys had turned in for the night.

Harry began making his way upstairs, squeaking in alarm as the lights suddenly blared on, startling him. It was still rather dark, the lights barely provided any light—just enough to guide you to your destination.

He broke into a jog and as he burst into 'the Dungeons', he broke into a run—even when he realized there was nobody there. His heart pounded mercilessly in his chest and as the cool air slapped his face, he realized he was panting and sweating.

Harry turned the corner, slowing down, bending over and heaving, certain now that he was safe.

It dawned on him seconds later—when his breathing had evened out—that he was actually out now when curfew was over, an actual offence. Should a teacher, or a patrolling Prefect catch him right now, he was looking at detention, no issue.

Harry glanced around, trying to figure out where he'd ended up—perhaps he could find an empty classroom to spend the night. And then, maybe, when the Slytherins were having breakfast in the morning, he could sneak down there and gather the books he needed for the day.

Even as Harry worked out the finer details of his plan, he knew it wasn't a very sustainable one—but it was better than nothing.

"Just what are you doing out, young man?"

Harry turned around and gave a shrill scream. He absorbed himself from blame: there was very little that could prepare someone for a ghost that just burst through the wall. It was that same ghost from the Hall, with the silver bleeding wound in his chest and the chains.

"I… I…" Harry sighed, and wiped a trembling hand across his face, starting to realize just how cold it was. "I dunno, to be honest."

The ghost stared at him for a good while silently and Harry shuffled his feet.

"Are your housemates giving you trouble?"

Harry opened his mouth to scream out a frustrated "yes" but stopped himself short—nobody liked a squealer.

"I see… Well then, come on, young man—let's find you a place to stay the night!"

* * *

**So, Harry's finally at Hogwarts; I think the build-up has been fairly well done. **

**I'd like to hear you guys' thoughts on it so far, leave a review, and I'll have another chapter up tomorrow!**


	8. Even Wizards are Morons

Harry woke up feeling rather refreshed.

The sun shone brightly through the windows and the birds were chirping merrily. It was barely seven-thirty, and Harry pushed to his feet, gathering up his belongings: his wand was basically everything he had.

He was still in the dungeons, he remembered—mentally thanking the Bloody Baron for helping him find an abandoned classroom the night before. He owed that ghost big time. It was warm in the classroom, to boot. It didn't take him too long to find the Great Hall, one or two wrong turns and he was there.

There was barely anyone there—and nobody from Slytherin, that was for sure. Professor McGonogall was already present, but she was the only professor; she spared a nod for Harry as she hurried up to the High Table.

Harry hurriedly got started on breakfast: he figured he wouldn't have the table to himself all that longer.

He also spent some time observing the other people in the Hall: all four of them were from Ravenclaw girls. They were loudly debating something about—the Patronus Charm, apparently, and whether it could be used to send messages…?

Harry shook his head in bemusement.

By seven-thirty, he was finished with breakfast and ready to leave but decided to linger a while. The last thing he needed was to run into another spat of trouble in 'the Dungeons'. He'd just wait them out and then head down and pick up his belongings.

He didn't have that long to wait.

The Slytherins entered the Great Hall as a proper unit. And even though Harry wasn't on good terms with them, he couldn't deny it was impressive.

Not everybody had made it down, obviously. Harry couldn't pick out a single first-year among them. These looked like the upper-years—fifth-years and up. They looked properly menacing, as well as large, he thought as he observed them.

He almost forgot that it was cue to leave—in fact, it took a vicious smirk from that boy in the loo the day before for Harry to shoot up out of the bench.

His gait was long and hurried and Harry ran a relieved hand through his hair as he departed the Hall. He snorted in amusement as he came across Granger—she frowned at him like Harry'd personally offended her or something, struggling with her rucksack. It looked heavy as hell, to be fair.

A left turn and Harry was back in the dungeons, not even a scratch to speak of. He was in a rather jovial mood, upbeat and everything—after all, he'd survived the first night and he had an abandoned classroom to himself to survive countless more.

He came across Gemma Farley close to where he remembered the Potions classroom was—and she looked weighed down and anxious, her dark hair rather messy and her eyes were tired.

She brightened as she caught sight of Harry and he grimaced, trying to signal that he really needed to get going but the Prefect wasn't having none of that.

"Potter! Oi, Potter!"

Harry sighed and turned around. "Yes…?" His voice couldn't have been more mocking and she obviously caught that, scowling as she jogged up to him.

"Don't take that tone with me—I'm a Prefect, I won't be talked to like that!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Right, got it; anything else you wanted to say or d'you make a habit of stopping people in the corridors for no good reason?"

Farley didn't seem to like his tone, hands going to her hips and eyes narrowed but she seemed to catch herself in the middle of formulating her rant. Harry snorted.

"Professor Snape wishes to see you, Potter—"

"What the fuck for?!"

"Watch your language, Potter, I won't warn you again—"

"Oh, you won't, huh?" Harry muttered under his breath, clenching his fists and scowling.

"The Prefects have an obligation to report to Snape which under-years are out breaking curfew—"

"So someone squealed on me then?"

Farley sighed, looking very tired. "Professor Snape wishes to see you, Pottter; d'you need assistance finding his office or—"

"No, I'll be fine, thanks!" Harry spat at her.

She shrugged at him and took off, looking mighty relieved herself to wash her hands off the whole affair.

Harry run a hand through his hair and tried to calm himself down, figuring he wouldn't be doing himself any favours by showing up into Snape's office brassed off and itching for a go at someone.

He found Snape's office no problem and made quick work of knocking on the door, hoping to keep this short.

"Come in!"

The office was dark, sparsely lit. The walls were lined with shelves of large glass jars filled with bits of animals and plants. There was a cupboard in the corner, as well, and a work table close to a fireplace, seating Snape writing on some parchment.

Harry shuffled his feet, feeling rather awkward just standing there in the dark as Snape furiously scrawled on the parchment, growing increasingly exasperated—until his Head of House growled and balled up the parchment, tossing it, and it landed before him.

Harry gulped as the man looked at him, his eyes were so dark it almost looked like he was looking into a hole, sucking him in—

He glanced away and drank in a desperately needed breath.

"...Mr. Potter?!"

Harry blinked. Evidently, he'd just missed Snape's question. "I'm sorry…?"

Snape growled, taking in a deep breath. "Take a seat, Potter, we—"

"I'd prefer to stand if you don't mind, sir!" Harry placed his hand in his pocket, grateful for the feel of his wand.

"No matter"—he hardly looked it—"Let's begin with why you were in Knockturn Alley the other day, why don't we, Potter?"

Harry fixed a smile he wasn't feeling on his face. "With all due respect, sir, I see no reason why we should discuss my life outside Hogwarts—now, if that was all…" He made to turn around and escape the room—but Snape had other ideas.

"You haven't been dismissed just yet, Potter!" he spat out. Harry gave a small sigh and turned back around to face Snape. "Fine—you don't want to discuss what you were up to at Knockturn—"

"What were you doing down there, then, Professor—if you don't mind me asking?" he finished mockingly.

His Head of House smiled a chilling smile, and even in the dimly lighted room, his yellow teeth shined brightly and Harry trembled slightly as the man pushed to his feet. "I'm a Potions Master, Potter—Knockturn Alley has some of the best potion ingredients on the Isles. I'm sure I don't need to spell it out for you or will that be necessary, as well?"

"No," Harry ground out. Man, Malfoy hadn't been barking at all when he'd said this Snape bloke hated him. Merlin above…!

"Good—well then, I've been informed that you were out past curfew?… Is that true?" Snape asked when Harry remained silent. He came out from behind the desk, approaching Harry.

He gave Snape a nod, nothing more.

Snape sneered at him, his face turning even more pasty. "That'll be a detention, Potter! Make sure to be here at eight p.m sharp, Potter, or else—"

"Got it…sir!"

Snape smiled yet another chilling smile. "Oh, yes—before I forget: another detention—"

"What for?!" Harry asked incredulously.

"Watch your tone, boy—that will be three now. Would you like another?"

Harry bit his lip and shook his head.

"This is real life, Potter—I'm not awed by your fame, and your silly little title means absolutely nothing to me! If I ever catch you breaking the rules here at Hogwarts, you will be very dearly sorry. Is that clear?"

Harry simply nodded, his jaw beginning to ache.

Snape sneered at him. "Well then, what are you waiting for?—Get out of my sight, I have had enough of seeing your ugly face!"

Harry stormed out of the office in a frenzy of rage, fists clenched and breathing heavily. He hurried down to 'the Dungeons', not pausing to respond to the few people who nodded at him. Before long, he was in his dormitory and he went about gathering his belongings very quickly, certain that he only had a few minutes to get to class.

Just as he climbed back up into the common room, the boy from the loo yesterday came into view—he'd just entered 'the Dungeons', as well. Harry came to a halt and the boy smirked at him. His cronies—two equally large brute types—cracked their knuckles at the sight of him, sniggering to themselves.

"What's this here?—Snape tear you a proper one, Potter?"

Harry drew his wand immediately, clutching it rather tightly. "Move!" He was done taking their shite!

For a second, it was quiet—all eyes in the room focused on Harry, frowning as they processed his words—

And then they laughed. They laughed, holding onto each other for support. And then the other Slytherins began laughing too—more reserved but equally assured about the hilarity of it all—

And Harry just snapped—

"Flipendo—Furnuculus—Locomotor Wibbly!"

Harry snarled as the three boys toppled to the ground, the one from the loo screaming and covering his face in horror, eyes wide and unseeing as boils exploded over his face.

The spectators watched Harry, slack-jawed, disbelieving, silent now. Footfalls sounded as someone began approaching and Harry remembered that he needed to start making his way to class: he didn't even have his time-table for fuck's sake.

"Oi, Potter. Potter—wait up!"

It was a girl: a brunette and her hair barely came to her shoulders— she looked harried, her hair a far cry from neatly combed and her rucksack limply hanging from her shoulders. Harry thought he remembered her from the sorting, and she certainly looked the part of a first-year.

She handed him a piece of parchment. "You didn't get your time-table..." She smiled at Harry.

He tried for a smile but couldn't quite pull it off. "Thanks."

"Oi! What the actual fuck's going on here?!"

Prefect Farley had returned and she looked right furious at the scene laid before her. The boys were rolling on the ground, groaning softly to them to themselves. And in the case of the boy with the boils, Harry thought he even made out quiet tears but he wasn't sure. It was probably his imagination.

There was a dark-haired bloke next to her, impressively tall and unimpressed with proceedings—hands crossed against his chest—his Prefect badge shining boldly. Nobody looked ready to test the two of them, avoiding their eyes and looking to the ground. Farley's eyes sought out Harry's and her jaw tightened at seeing him.

"Why am I not surprised to see you here, Potter?"

Harry shrugged, strapping his bag on. "Dunno—maybe you should ask those wankers—"

A gasp went through the crowd and Harry sneered. "I will defend myself! You want this shite to stop? Tell 'em to back off. Good day!"

He made to move past them.

Farley held onto his arm, holding him back. "Hold on—where d'you think you're going?"

Harry tugged his arm free with a huff. "To class, prefect Farley!" Harry spat, feeling rather vindicated when she recoiled from him. She wasn't that much taller than him even though he was just a first-year, he noticed. "Or would you prefer I skipped class?" Snape'd love that—another excuse to put Harry in detention; not that he really needed one.

He didn't wait for her to respond, making for the stone wall entrance.

They had Charms first.

The classroom was all the way on the third floor—Harry'd never been there and got lost a couple of times, the clock steadily and determinedly ticking towards nine as he stressed on.

To make matters worse, Tracey—as she insisted Harry call her—tailed after him: she had Charms class, as well; she was Slytherin, after all. She seemed less bothered by the fact that with every passing minute they were increasingly less likely to get to Charms class on time. Then again, Snape wasn't likely to give her detention for showing up late so he could see where she was coming from.

Her voice, though—it just grated on something within Harry: it was scratching, it was high-pitched, and it was irritatingly loud. As if that wasn't enough—she rattled on about the latest Wizardry gossip: apparently, Celestina Warbeck was cheating on her husband (incidentally, also her manager) with Irving Warble, some music composer.

Harry was very relieved to see a group of first-years gathered outside a classroom. The moment they got there, Tracey squealed and rushed off to a blonde-haired prim-looking girl that radiated class. The two girls locked heads and began whispering to each other, casting quick, short glances at Harry.

The other Slytherin boys had already made it, he saw; the girls, as well. Pike spared Harry a nod of acknowledgement and Harry frowned, wondering what the boy was doing here.

He wasn't a first-year, was he…?

"Cutting it a bit close, Potter! I'd watch myself if I were you. Wouldn't want to get another detention so soon after the first now, would we?"

A pug-faced girl twittered at that, trying to cover her mouth with her hands.

Harry ignored Malfoy, unstrapping his rucksack. So Prefect Farley had already spread the word, had she?! Bitch!

He wondered if the Ravenclaws would take offence if he tried to sit with them. He decided not to risk it, spend a couple of days feeling them out first. After all, the way they looked at him after Malfoy's words…

The bell went off and the classroom door snapped open, and the students streamed inside.

The desks filled up rather quickly. Not a whole lot of mingling went on: Slytherins sat beside Slytherins, Ravenclaws next to Ravenclaws. Harry sat beside his very own rucksack, keeping his eyes resolutely ahead even as he saw Malfoy trying to get his attention from the corner of his eye, wearing a look of delighted glee.

Just why did the twit have to come sit in the back?!

Charms class was something of a mixture—Professor Flitwick spent over half the lesson explaining what one could do with Charms. And then, he went on to warn them that Charms were very serious business, indeed, and nobody should be playing and messing about with them.

Of course, it was hard to take the goblin-man professor seriously when he was standing on top of a stack of books and especially with his squeaky voice. Harry certainly didn't. And from Malfoy's relentless mocking mimicking, neither did his blonde-haired housemate.

Harry had to put in his very all not to burst out in laughter on several occasions.

Soon enough, though, Flitwick got to the goodies—everybody got a piece of clothing and Flitwick instructed them to tear the cloth, and then proceeded to teach them the Repairing Charm.

It didn't get the blood rushing or anything of the sorts but it was plenty fun tearing the cloth and repairing it whole before his eyes. Harry repeated the process several times, appreciating the concept of magic every time he saw the cloth mend itself at his command.

Flitwick awarded him ten points for mastering the spell, clapping and jumping on his stack of books with delight. Malfoy got fifteen points for mastering the spell a few minutes before Harry—and his smug smile had Harry dashing out of the classroom the moment the bell rang, his rucksack barely strapped securely on his shoulders.

Transfiguration class was on the first floor—and for that Harry was most grateful.

He was already seated by the time the other Slytherins shuffled in, giving Malfoy a smirk. The Hufflepuffs had arrived about a minute earlier. Malfoy sneered back and made for a desk with the same weedy boy he'd sat beside during Charms.

Harry scowled, realizing he really needed to learn his housemates' names.

"Can I sit here?"

It was Susan Bones, and she sounded very unsure about herself, pointing to the seat next to him, biting her lip, shuffling her feet—the whole package. The whole class was watching and Harry shrugged.

"Suit yourself!"

Professor McGonogall did not appear until after the bell sounded, she seemed to suddenly sprout into place from the ground—and the door suddenly slammed shut. Susan jumped in her seat and Harry sniggered at her reaction; she didn't like that all too much, glaring at Harry, but he wasn't all that bothered.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn here at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned!"

That was all the warning they got—and thank the Heavens, as well; if they'd had to endure yet another half-hour speech about the dangers of a particular branch of magic, Harry would've fallen asleep.

The lesson, itself, turned out to be rather dull. McGonogall had Leanne—a Hufflepuff—share out little golden boxes and that got everyone excited, thinking they were going to get right to real magic but McGonogall had other ideas.

"Before we begin attempting to transfigure the box into a mouse—"

Gasps of amazement sounded—Susan included, her mouth hanging open, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Yes, yes—very impressive, indeed. But before you can do such a thing, you must know—and most importantly, comprehend—the Transformation formula. Now, just what is the Transformation formula?"

Nobody raised their hand but give McGonogall props—she didn't give in and start answering the question.

Harry knew the answer—Transfiguration was his favourite subject so far, after all, but he didn't really feel like answering the question. That was too much towards spod, bookworm territory for comfort.

Malfoy's seating partner finally raised his hand after McGonogall recited the first two components to the formula: bodyweight and viciousness. "Yes, Mr. Nott?"

Nott. Theodore Nott. Harry smiled.

"The transformation formula refers to the various components that affect a Transfiguration: you already mentioned bodyweight and viciousness but there's also wand power—referring to a person's natural proficiency for magic—concentration and lastly, a fifth variable still unknown to this day."

Harry cringed. That. Exactly that—was how he didn't want to come across.

Even as McGonogall congratulated Nott and awarded him twenty points for his very detailed explanation, Malfoy poked the boy in the ribs, smirking as he whispered something to him. Harry thought it was a harmless bit of mockery, Nott going beet red and it was such a huge clash with his pale skin.

McGonogall soon gave up on having them master the Transformation formula and got them started on the Snufflifors Spell. The class as a whole was more alert as they caught on, realizing they were actually going to get a chance to do magic.

Of course, when McGonogall finally actually did let them whip their wands out—things didn't proceed prettily.

There was a whole lot of "Snufflifors" being shouted out but Harry couldn't make out any mice scuttling across the desks and the golden boxes remained as golden and solid, as ever. Finally, after one Hufflepuff girl shrilly screamed out the incantation without results, McGonogall snapped—

"I don't recall the volume of your scream being part of the Transformation formula, Miss Perks!"

The girl in question flushed, ducking her head and dropping her wand to the desk.

Harry laughed: it was too much. Next to him, Susan Bones moaned as her box remained solid and golden and boxy as ever. She patted her plaited red hair down and glared at Harry, pointing her wand at him.

Harry cocked a brow at her.

"Why don't you have a go, then?" she challenged him, lifting her chin. "You must have the spell down already, laughing at everyone's failed attempts. At least we're trying!"

Harry chuckled at her. "Fine, watch this!" Harry took in a deep breath, thinking back on all his successful Transfiguration attempts till then. He made sure to visualize a mouse, a fat, juicy one with whiskers and pink, small feet and a rather long tail—

"Snufflifors!"

There was a pink, blinding light and when it cleared a strikingly white mouse was scuttling about Harry's desk. Harry gasped in delight.

"You did it!" Susan sounded amazed, flushed.

The class stilled and Harry quickly rearranged his features into a composed, confident smile from his look of amazement. He shrugged as almost the whole class surrounded their table, pointing at the mouse in amazement and twittering their compliments to Harry.

Professor McGonogall hurried over, waving her arms frantically and Harry glanced at his seating partner, hoping she knew what this was about. She shook her heads slowly.

"Catch the mouse! Catch the mouse!"

They didn't catch the mouse and McGonogall morphed into a cat before their very eyes and back into a human a minute later—the mouse in hand, not a hair out of place.

The group gathered around their table parted as McGonogall approached their desk. Even the other Slytherin—except from Tracey and her blonde seating partner, they were already gathered around his desk—had stopped their trying to watch.

"Excellent Transfiguration, Potter—it's clear you have inherited your father's affinity for the subject," she said with a blinding smile that Harry struggled to return.

"Now, the rest of you—back to your seats, or did you think to replicate Mr. Potter's efforts by simply staring at him?" The students scrambled to their seats, flushed.

"Twenty points, Potter to…" She cleared her throat, the smile slipping off her face. "…Slytherin."

She walked rather briskly to the front of the classroom, attending to a group of Slytherins struggling with their wand movement—shocking, considering the wand-movement for this spell was a simple jab.

"That was odd."

Harry didn't reply to the Hufflepuff's words but he silently agreed. The students weren't all that comfortable with him being a Slytherin, he'd noticed—it wasn't all that hard to spot, really—but to think even the teachers were bothered by it… Well, Snape was, obviously—then again, Snape's issue seemed to ran deeper than the fact that he was Slytherin—but he dearly hoped not all of them were like Snape.

The class ended soon after—Malfoy very nearly completing the Transfiguration. His mouse glinted stubbornly, though, and McGonogall awarded him five points for an "impressive first-try." Malfoy didn't look all too flattered, storming out as the bell rang.

Harry gathered his things at a more relaxed pace, nodding at Bones as she departed.

He ended up being the last to leave and McGonogall smiled softly at him from behind her desk, pulling out an impressively tall stack of parchments. He paused in the doorway, and shrugged.

"Stuff it!" he whispered to himself. "Professor!"

He approached the Professor—she looked thrown-off, blinking at him, her hand hanging limply above a piece of parchment. She cleared her face and returned to her stern, tight-lipped expression that he was becoming very familiar with.

"Did you have a question, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shrugged, drumming his hands on the desk. "Not really a Transfiguration question…"

She nodded. "Yes, I suppose you won't have too many Transfiguration problems during your time here, Mr. Potter," she said with a smile, and Harry indulged in a pleased smirk.

He cleared his throat. "Does my being Slytherin bother you?" he asked in his best neutral voice.

McGonogall went into a coughing fit, eyes wide and she opened and closed her mouth, looking lost and panicked. "I… Mr. Potter, where did you get such an idea?!" She gave a nervous laugh that was probably meant to lay Harry at ease.

He didn't budge, giving her a flat look as she wiped at her mouth. "My Sorting had the school silent for a whole minute, Professor—and even just now, you were quiet when you realized I was Slytherin again—"

"Well… I admit… I, personally did… _not _expect you to become a Slytherin—but to suggest that I have a problem with it…" She laughed, and it was a bit stiff and uncomfortable but Harry was willing to buy it.

He nodded at her, sparing her a quick smile. "Thank you for your time."

By the time Harry arrived at the Great Hall for lunch, there was precious little space to speak of on the bench. Harry had to fit in between Pike and some bloke whose name he didn't know and he was distinctly aware of the eyeballs on him as he got started on making his sandwich. Especially the two boys that had been with the boy-from-the-loo; he was absent and Harry felt a grim sense of justice grip him.

It was silent at the table, eyes skittering up and about, avoiding the rest as they ate their food. Nobody could deny nor admit the tension thick in the air. Harry tried to keep his head down and act nonchalant but it wasn't a picnic with the boys' glares getting more and more intimidating.

"Man, they really hate your guts…" Pike said, looking at the boys trying to murder Harry with their eyes in awe.

Harry snorted—

And that seemed to set things off.

One of the boys pushed incredibly hard to his feet, his face twisting into a horrible grimace—

Hands wrapped around him immediately, pulling him back down into his seat but he fought them off, swatting them away, his face colouring into a very ugly shade, promising pain and hurt.

"No—screw him, Flint's still in the infirmary and everyone's just sitting here acting like it's all fine—"

The other boy that had been involved in the scuffle that morning finally succeeded in tugging the boy back onto the bench and Harry let loose a breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding.

"Not here, Lucian—"

"Nah—fuck that, Pergerine, this filthy half-blood's sitting there smug as a motherfucker and we're just gonna let 'em?"

Nobody had a reply for him but the Slytherins around him began picking at their foods, scowling and looking morose.

A girl, not three ways down away from Lucian—huh? Some name— shrieked, bemoaning her stained robes but nobody spared her a glance. Her friends wrapped their arms around her, consoling her and the girls rushed out of the Hall, one of them reserving a very proper glare for Harry before she left.

It was funny, Harry thought—that something like this could go on in the Great Hall, without the teachers picking up on anything. He looked up at the High Table, only to find Snape burning a hole into his scalp and glanced back down into his plate, flushing slightly.

But for the rest, the teachers were picking their meal apart without a care in the world, stopping to chat with each other every so often.

It almost made him wonder if he could get away with cursing someone in here…

After all, with all the people present… It'd be hard to pinpoint exactly who—

Harry pulled out his wand, fisting it under the table, breathing slightly heavily. He glanced at Pike out of the corner of his eye, just to be sure he didn't know what Harry was up to.

He seemed properly focused on his food but Harry hesitated, still not all that confident.

"Hey, Pike—you're not a first-year, are you?"

The boy glanced up at Harry, his thin lips coming together in a frown. "Why?"

Harry shrugged, rolling his wand in his hand, trying to take aim at Lucian. It was properly difficult, considering Harry couldn't actually see what he was doing and all.

"Well, I didn't see you at the Sorting and now, all of a sudden, you're taking classes with us and you're not even in our dormitory…"

Pike was silent, moodily picking at his food and Harry frowned, wondering what was up his arse. It was a proper distraction, of course, thankfully, but still, bleeding weird.

He brought his face close to his plate and tried to smoothen his expression, very well aware that all hell was seconds away from breaking loose.

"Locomotor Wobbly," he hissed out.

He felt his wand tremble and give a whoosh and he immediately pocketed it, focusing intently on Pike as he began speaking again.

"I failed the exams last year—so I'm doing my year over."

"Ohhhh." Pike glared at him and looked away.

A gasp sounded and Harry turned around, just in time to see Lucian's face go splat into his soup and silence reigned.

Harry's hand went to his mouth, amazed that it had all worked out.

People around the table were looking about, frowning in confusion, wondering what was going on. Some stood to their feet, trying to crane their necks to get a better look at things.

The boy's friend—Pergerine—quickly pulled Lucian's head out of the soup but got shoved off of him right after and Lucian furiously wiped at his face, a demented, enraged look on his face as he glared into Harry, who quickly realized he was very quickly overstaying his welcome.

He gathered up his rucksack and made to leave—he'd eaten a fair bit, as well.

"You!"

Laughs suddenly erupted around the Hall, Gryffindors, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaws—everybody—pointing and sniggering at Pergerine, who was trying to stand and give chase after Harry, who was doing a decent job of walking calmly out of the Great Hall.

He spied the teachers frowning at each other in obvious confusion, not understanding what the commotion was all about.

Lucian stumbled once more just as Harry whirled about for one last glance, falling smack onto the table, laid out before the school on the Slytherin table right smack in between the pumpkin juice and the soup bowl.

Harry winced for the boy as he saw the soup bowl and the pumpkin juice jug give way and topple over, coming to cover him. The boy was sputtering and wiping at his eyes, screaming bloody murder.

The teachers were on the scene now, instructing the students from other Houses to sit down and stop laughing. Snape had rushed to the Slytherin table, looking wide-eyed and distressed, waving his wand frantically over his head as chaos reigned.

Harry sniggered to himself and dashed away.

He was still in high spirits as he stopped before the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom on the third floor even though it took him nearly half an hour to find, rather proud of himself.

And he hadn't even gotten caught—well, yet anyway. It was very well worth it.

A tall, olive-skinned boy appeared not too long after. He had that well-taken-care-of look that Malfoy had and he was a Slytherin, Harry saw from his tie.

He couldn't quite remember his name but he did remember seeing him in class and at the Slytherin table and at the Sorting the night before.

He stopped short at seeing Harry and immediately began looking around to see if anybody was present. Harry cocked his brow.

"How'd you do that?!" the boy demanded, nearing Harry, after deciding the place was safe—or whatever the fuck he was doing.

Harry gave the boy a flat look.

And the boy smiled back sheepishly, shuffling his feet. "Right… Fair enough that you hate my guts, I suppose—we haven't exactly been warm and supportive of you so far, now, have we?"

Harry shrugged.

The boy nodded, shifting his feet, probably feeling awkward. Harry just scowled and willed the time to pass faster so that they could get started with Defence Against the Dark Arts. He hoped the professor would get right into teaching them some spells.

That was all the conversing they did until the Professor—wearing a purple turban—his left eye twitching madly, showed up, shuffling his feet and wheezing slightly. Harry exchanged a puzzled frown with the boy as they watched the professor struggle to open the door, muttering to himself as he did so.

The classroom smelled of garlic and Harry gagged from the first foot he set inside. The boy didn't fare much better behind him, wrinkling his nose, wearing a foul frown.

The professor gave a nervous laugh from behind his desk, waving something or the other off. "Met a vampire on my travels this summer…" He laughed nervously, glancing into the corner and giving a shiver, seemingly forgetting about them.

Harry frowned and immediately made to the back of the room, looking to put in as much distance as he possibly could between himself and the utterly barmy professor.

The boy seemed to have similar thoughts, following him to the back of the classroom. He then went ahead and dropped in next to Harry, who raised his brow at this.

The boy just shrugged, unstrapping his rucksack and smirked at Harry. "Name's Blaise, by the way."

* * *

**So, my Harry's quite temperamental, if I say so myself. He's also quite a brat, rash, but I still think he personifies Slytherin fully.**

**Make sure to leave a REVIEW! with your thoughts, and see you tomorrow!**


	9. Two are Better than One

Malfoy skidded to a stop, blinking furiously at the scene laid out before him. His stop had created some traffic in the doorway and mutterings broke out. Harry smiled smugly at his shock, even going as far to give him a cheeky wave.

"Oi! What's the hold up?" That was a rather fat boy with blonde hair and Harry snorted at the sight of him, strongly reminded of Dudley. "What's the matter, Malfoy? Need help finding your seat?"

Tittering sounded and Malfoy's face tightened. He gave himself a shake and glanced over his shoulder. "I'd put a sock in it if I were you, MacMillan—wouldn't want your mouth to get as large as the rest of your body, now, will you?"

He set off then in search of a seat leaving a ringing silence behind him, MacMillan flushing a deep shade of pink that only furthered Harry's belief in the strong resemblance with his cousin. Malfoy ended up rather close to the front of the classroom, rather close to the Ravenclaws, who were swallowing up the seats in the front like it was nobody's business.

That pug-faced girl dashed after Malfoy, wearing a worried frown filling the seat next to him, whispering furiously to the boy.

He was nodding stiffly at her words, and Harry scowled.

"Good ol' Pansy, always there for Draco…"

Harry frowned at Blaise. "D'you know her or summin'?"

Blaise gave him a confused frown, settling for a shrug. "We've met."

A wave of Hufflepuffs surged in just as the bell rang, and the last—a curly-haired boy—was tasked with shutting the door as the bell sounded.

Harry hmm'd. "No Gryffindors?"

Blaise shrugged. "Guess not…" He didn't seem to care about a whole lot, Harry noted with a frown.

The Professor cleared his throat, and gave a nervous laugh as they stared at him, waiting for him to begin teaching.

Blaise gave a growl and Harry cocked a brow at him. Blaise just hurriedly waved off his concern, still scowling fiercely. "Don't get your hopes up too high for this class is all I'm saying—Quirrell's right garbage, I've heard…"

It was unfortunate but that description was spot on.

Harry had been excited for Defence Against the Dark Arts class—even more so than Transfiguration, even though it remained his favourite branch of magic; the appeal of learning new spells to hit people with…

Instead, what they got was a Professor that mumbled to himself more than he spoke to them. They had to strain their ears really hard to catch wind of any word he uttered.

To top it off, Harry began developing a headache not too far into the class, gritting his teeth to ward off the pain.

Soon enough, almost everybody had tuned the man out as he droned on about his woes from the summer past—some vampire in Albania or something of the sort. Harry hoped he was on to something because otherwise, he'd been wasting ample chance at shirking listening like everyone else.

Malfoy was leaning on his elbow, glancing out the window as Pansy—or whatever her name was—stroked his hair softly, making Harry gag to himself every so often.

"Give it up, mate—"

Harry shook his head stubbornly at Blaise. "No—it's not all that dry, actually—"

Blaise rolled his eyes, going back to his parchment where he'd drawn a rather large snake. It was beautiful, really, striking.

"I'm sure—that a bloke that managed to get one over three fifth-years all on his own could learn a whole lot from this sorry excuse of a Professor…!"

Harry looked up, his face stretching into a wide smile.

Bingo!

So, from _there _the sudden change! Blaise had heard about the little scuffle in the morning—it must've happened after Harry'd left the Great Hall at lunch. He clucked his tongue against the top of his mouth, observing the olive-skinned boy sketch a mouse dangerously close to the snake's fangs with renewed interest.

"How d'you think I learnt the spells I used? It wasn't by skipping Defence Against the Dark Arts, I'll tell you that."

The boy shrugged. "Fair enough—though you're probably better off with self-study for the year. You're not going to learn a whole lot in Defence—"

"He can't be that bad—"

Blaise snorted, finishing off the tail to his mouse and inspecting it delicately. "He used to teach Muggle Studies, Potter!"

Harry felt his lips part ways.

"But—How?!"

Blaise shrugged, beginning on a second mouse.

Harry scowled to himself, crumbling up the parchment in his hand in one go. "Well, this was an utter waste of time!"

"You're welcome."

Harry scowled around the room at all the people not paying attention. His scowl turned into a sneer as he realized that the Ravenclaws were still doing their best to suck something out of the lesson, perked and hands etching ink onto the parchments at a furious pace.

The Hufflepuffs were idly chatting with one another, though he spied that podgy boy—MacMillan, was it?—juggling conversing with the curly-haired boy and jotting down notes with some serious skill.

Harry huffed and dug into his rucksack, pulling out _Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_. The moment, he set the book on his desk, the bell rang—

Harry swore and immediately, the tables next to him seating Malfoy's former seating partner, Nott, and Bulstrode—the others were Hufflepuffs—glanced at Harry, almost in affront.

"Tough luck." Blaise neatly folded up his parchment, getting started on packing up.

Harry huffed and moodily began packing up. He was one of the first out of the class, still quite a ways behind Malfoy making a valiant effort to get away from Pansy—though give the pug-faced girl credit, she chased after him with gusto down the dungeons.

Harry took off at a slower pace, Blaise falling in line beside him. "So, what've you got planned? We don't have any homework, as I recall…"

Harry run a hand through his hair. "Don't really know—I suppose I'll see where the wind takes me."

Blaise just nodded and they continued walking in silence, taking the stairs down.

As they reached the junction that would take you down to the dungeons, Harry stilled and Blaise paused, frowning at him. "What're you doing?"

Harry chuckled. "You didn't think I was going down there, did you?"

Blaise turned to face him now, looking very confused.

Harry snorted. "I'll show my face over there when I want to die—until then, I'll remain out here, thank you very much!"

"Is this about lunch?"

Harry laughed, his hand shooting to his hair. "Look, I'll see you around, Blaise. Maybe we can sit together at dinner or summin'…"

Blaise called after him as he turned around to leave but Harry didn't turn back, or even spare him a glance over his shoulder. He smirked at Nott as he passed him, and spared Tracey a cordial nod—easily ignoring their confused frowns.

Harry spent the rest of the day wandering about the castle.

It was rather fun, the castle was extremely large and he was only just beginning to grasp the vastness of it all, not to talk about appreciate it all.

He passed several students on his exploring, many of them eyeing him suspiciously. They always seemed to scowl when Harry smirked, not even breaking stride.

He was poking around the first floor when laughter caught his ears and he followed after. It was quite a chase, leading him back down to ground level, rather close to the dungeons—and before Harry went down, he weighed the sense in investigating.

He clutched his wand tightly, and—jaw set tightly and eyes glinting stubbornly—he pushed off.

It turned out to be alright—it was just the lake.

He observed from a distance as people ran about in laughter, hands flailing above their heads on the shore. Some of them had brought a mat, others a cloth and had gathered underneath a towering beech tree on the banks of the lake, book in hand, abusing the tree for shade. Harry saw quite an extensive collection of food on wide display and felt his stomach give a growl.

He glanced at the furiously bright and shining sun and scowled.

A trio of dark-skinned girls had discarded their robes, preferring their bikini's—and in the heat, perhaps they were onto something—and were tossing a red ball around themselves. Harry caught Weasley's brothers, the Twins, whistling and egging them within the Lake, itself—robes gone themselves—using their wands to obstruct them as they tossed the ball around, laughing merrily the whole time.

There was a crowd of on-lookers—they seemed to be mostly Gryffindors, though Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were dotted here and there in between—shouting their approval, whooping with laughter, eyes shining brightly.

It seemed the unofficial dress code was half-naked. Harry snorted, leaning deeper against the wall, watching the scene play out.

There was a rather long line of students—mostly bikini-clad girls in groups, it seemed—seated a bit to the side of the Twins, their legs dangling over the water in the lake, simply soaking in the sun, it would seem. They were just pointing about and laughing to themselves.

There was a burly, properly built bloke that looked like he could go toe to toe with Flint with little issues quite a ways down, rather deep in the admittedly short lake—it only seemed to stretch a mile back or so—and he had a red ball, as well, heaving it for himself high in the air and catching with the easiest of ease.

Harry watched it all play out with a small smile, marvelling at what probably qualified as a normal Hogwarts day.

He wondered if he could go join—after all, he saw Longbottom, Weasley and two other boys that looked Gryffindor from their robes sitting among the crowd egging the Twins and the girls on.

Even freaking MacMillan was present, though he looked rather out-of-place in the middle of three first-year girls with his shirt off, showing off his flab. Susan Bones looked like she didn't quite know what to make off it, her eyes doing the merry-go-round. Harry snorted. Her group was the only one dangling their legs to keep their robes on.

In the end, Harry decided against it, figuring he'd be tempting fate. He wasn't under any delusion concerning how most of these people felt about him at Hogwarts. There had to be a reason, after all, that Harry couldn't pick out a single Slytherin—even under the beech tree, enjoying the nice, extensive shade.

He was so caught up in the scene playing out before that he hardly noticed as the sun dimmed, and it got less bright. Even the sudden windy chill flew past his notice for the most part but as the students almost as a unit, rose up and began dressing up—it became obvious that things were coming to an end.

He turned around and began heading back, wondering where he should go. His stomach gave a growl, almost sullenly reminding Harry that he needed food and he chuckled.

A quick, "Tempus," and Harry was shrugging, heading down to the Great Hall for dinner.

It was still rather early—barely six—but the Hall was almost full. All the teachers—well, except Snape, thank the Heavens—were oddly present and he even thought he saw McGonogall nod to him. Quirrell seemed to be tailing him with his eyes, as well, but when Harry sharply turned to look at him, he was engaged in a conversation with Hagrid, the giant bloke, and he scowled back into his meal.

He'd made sure to put in quite a nice distance between him and the other Slytherins. Lucian and Tergerine weren't anywhere to be seen, neither was Flint—and Harry spared a prayer in the hopes that he was still receiving treatment for that Boil-Erupting Hex—but Harry still got a lot of heated glares.

He didn't overstay his welcome this time—leaving the Hall barely half of an hour after arriving. He saw Weasley and his gang—the same one that had been down by the lake—and gave him a cheeky shoulder bump as he walked by.

"Piss off, Potter."

Harry didn't turn around, laughing to himself.

His laughter met it's unfortunate death as he spotted Snape heading his way. The man's sallow face turned into a sneer and Harry swallowed down some spite—and some few choice words.

"Just the dunderhead I was looking for!" MacMillan and that curly-haired boy were walking just behind Snape—and his Head of House seemed to be doing his all to air out all the gory details of their current insulting, one-way match. The two boys came to a stop, quickly unknotting their shoelaces, and doing that thing where you pretended that you just simply had to tie your shoelaces, and were for that reason present. In all fairness, though, it was probably more real Slytherin than he'd observed from most of his Housemates.

"I'm afraid I will not be able to oversee your detention tonight—"

Harry blinked, disbelieving of his good fortune. "May I ask why, sir?"

Snape focused on him, the sneer coming over his face so fast it was rather scary. "You may not. Report to Professor Quirrell's office at seven-thirty for your detention, Potter; do not be late!" And then he was off.

Leaving Harry a gaping, stuttering mess.

He'd almost prefer Snape to that absolute muppet.

MacMillan and his china were on their feet now, sniggering at him. "Did you hear that, Justin?—Potter's already gone and gotten himself a detention. Tut, tut—I guess you really are a Slytherin!"

Harry drew his wand and had the Stinging Jinx so fast out of his wand that he was equally wide-eyed as the stray of light connected with MacMillan. "Ow!" He rubbed his arm sullenly, his lip in a pout.

"Potter…!" Harry grimaced at the sight of Quirrell, already working on an excuse of sorts.

The professor closed in on him and the stench immediately made Harry take a step back. "No spells in the hallway…" He laughed softly, his eyes flitting between the two of them almost nervously, not quite seeing, he thought.

Harry pulled out his best smile. "Of course not, sir! I hear I have detention with you this evening. Shall we get going?"

MacMillan gave him one last glare, still massaging his arm and took off, his mate, Justin scurrying after him.

Quirrell nodded, motioning for Harry to follow him.

His office wasn't all that far, but a few steps into the second-floor. Convenient, really. Harry had to roll his eyes as Quirrell had a brief panic attack, searching for his wand.

This was going to be a disaster.

The office was rather spacious. Just a lone desk in the back of the room, with a stack of parchments sitting on top of it. There was a telescope, positioned before a little gaping hole in the wall.

The garlic stench was thankfully less prominent in the room, though he still caught a faint scent.

Harry was rather impressed to see African tribal masks hanging on the wall, and he thought he even made out human skulls sitting in the bookshelf, but he didn't look long enough to be sure.

"Do you like it?" came Quirrell's wheezing voice.

He was seated behind his desk now, and now Harry could see that it was in fact a stack of cushy-looking pillows that the professor sat on, not a stool.

He shrugged. "I've seen worse."

Quirrell was nodding to himself.

Harry stood before him, beginning to feel rather awkward: this wasn't his first detention, he'd had several back in grade school—and generally, the teacher just told you whatever the hell type of oddity they were going to have you do.

This stare into nothingness thing business Quirrell was doing… Yeah, nah, it was bloody weird.

Of course, when Quirrell suddenly snapped out of it and focused incredibly intensely on Harry, he took his words back mentally—almost begging for Quirrell to look somewhere else, anywhere else!

"I hear you're having some trouble with your Housemates, Mr. Potter…"

Harry gulped at that. How the bloody hell did the professors know about that? Was Snape…? Harry shook his head. The sallow-skinned, sour man didn't really seem the type to be gossiping about Harry in the teacher's lounge.

"Nothing I can't handle…sir!" He cleared his throat and looked rather pointedly around the office. "Was there something in particular that you had planned for tonight, sir?"

Quirrell chuckled and it wasn't his usual quirky laugh. It scratched at Harry, made his hair stand up, his laugh did.

"I understand that you were responsible for Mr. Flint's stay in the Hospital Wing—what do you have to say about that?"

Harry felt his jaw drop.

He wasn't even sure Snape knew about that yet! How the effin hell…

"How d'you—"

The professor suddenly straightened, sitting up. "Does it matter? Really? Does it?"

Harry gulped, wiping his suddenly clammy hands on his trousers. This wasn't their professor—he wasn't the stuttering, mumbling nervous wreck. This bloke—whoever he was—he was a dodgy character and Harry's heart was doing it's all to burst out of his chest and begin it's escape.

Suddenly, right before his eyes, there was a slash and then a blinding scarlet beam of light was rushing towards Harry, a whirring sound getting ever louder as it neared and neared—

He stepped to the side, watching as the beam of light harmlessly dissipated into the wall, following the spell back to Quirrell's outstretched hand, wand still clutched, wearing a content smile.

"What the actual fuck?! You can't do that!"

Quirrell's voice morphed into a frown, an ugly frown, so fast that Harry recoiled, wondering if he was dealing with some sort of demon.

"Silence!"

Harry gulped and nodded, the deranged look in Quirrell's eyes convincing him that that was the best course of action.

"You recognized the spell, yes?" Quirrell looked at Harry imploringly. "Did you or did you not recognize the spell, Potter?!" And he sounded very close to the end of his patience.

So Harry nodded very quickly. "The Stunning Spell…Uh, sir!"

That got Quirrell smirking. And then the wheezing laugh was back and Harry frowned, feeling the tension leave his body.

What in the blazes was going on?!

"So, Harry—come now, be truthful with me, I won't punish you like your Head of House—"

"Yeah, that's likely," Harry muttered under his breath.

Quirrell stopped and gave Harry a flat look. "I have no petty vendetta to fight out. After all, I wasn't rivals with your father."

Harry closed and opened his mouth, trying to formulate a response but it seemed like his brain was having a short-circuit fail.

"You were disappointed, were you not, Potter—with my lesson today? Is it not true?" Quirrell inquired further when Harry's eyes widened.

It was—he hadn't been planning on sharing his views with the professor but yes, he'd been bitterly disappointed by Defence Against the Dark Arts.

The professor rolled up his sleeve, pushing his right foot forward into a sort of stance. "You want to know why I barely teach?" His voice had dropped into a whisper now, and a fanatical, straight-up crackers laugh escaped the man's lips and Harry gasped.

"Those absolute fools! They have no appreciation of magic. They know not the depths, the lengths one can go. The borders and limitations that one can remove with magic!"

Harry felt something stir in his stomach, something warm, something comforting and he lifted his chin up at the professor, feeling oddly inspired. Magic really was great!

The professor jabbed at him with his wand. "But you, Potter—you understand. You want more. More than this mundane magic, don't you, Potter? Do you not?!" he repeated when Harry remained silent.

To be fair, it seemed to be taking a longer period than normal for his words to reach his mouth.

"I… well, I mean—new spells are always great…"

Quirrell sneered at Harry, a mocking smile that turned into a chuckle, and Harry felt himself colouring red. "You need not be modest with me, Potter—after all, I can see and hear your thoughts as clear as day."

Harry took a step back, then two and three. "That's—you can do that?!"

Quirrell smirked at him. "There are no limitations with magic, Potter."

He must've looked like a fish out of water, all the stuttering and stumbling and mumbling he was doing. Quirrell was really doing a number on him.

"What spells do you already know, Potter?"

"Er…"

The professor lowered his wand and his arm, spreading his arms wide as he came around from behind his desk. Harry gulped.

"Show me, Potter!"

Harry felt his body begin shaking. This was a professor, literally telling him to curse them. Was this like a joke? Was this detention at Hogwarts? Normal detention…

"Don't tell me you're scared, Potter—it's unbefitting of a Slytherin to be scared, you know. Or were your Housemates right about you? Are you not fit to be a Slytherin?"

Harry didn't know how it happened but one moment, his jaw had clenched and the next his wand was in his hand, and he'd bellowed out—

"Mucus Ad Nauseam!"

A pale green light grabbed hold of Quirrell and dissipated almost immediately and the professor sneezed, staggering on his feet. He gave a rigid, almost dismissive, swat of his wand and immediately, his back straightened and he looked back up at Harry, wearing a maniacal smile.

"Very good, Potter—it took me about a week into Hogwarts to learn that spell myself, Potter. You truly are a worthy student!"

Harry beamed at that. Suddenly, the fact that he'd only learnt the spell because he thought it'd be funny to have people constantly have to sneeze didn't matter.

"We could even make this educational," Quirrell said with an amused snort. "After all, you can use all the help you can get with your Housemates, can't you?"

Harry scowled.

"Don't scowl; it's unbecoming of you."

"What would you have me do? Pout?"

A Stinging Hex connected with Harry blindingly fast, he hadn't even seen it whizz through the air. He rubbed his throbbing arm sullenly, scowling.

"Watch your tone—I will not be disrespected."

"No offense or anything—but in class, nobody really bothered paying attention either and you let that go—"

"If you think I could care in the slightest what those idiots learn, then you are seriously mistaken, Potter!"

Harry blinked at that. "Right." His arm fell limp, back to his side.

"Arm up, Potter. No, like this!" Quirrell demonstrated for Harry, arching his wrist a little whilst maintaining a straight arm; it wasn't as straightforward as Harry had imagined.

"Good, good. Now, tell me—"

"Hold on, this isn't a normal detention, is it?"

Quirrell glared at Harry, who quickly looked to the ground to avoid his burning orbs. "Do not interrupt me ever again with such a silly question in these 'detentions'. Is that clear?" Harry gave a hurried nod. "Excellent. Now, tell me, what the difference between a duel and a fight is?"

"Er…" Harry gulped.

Quirrell nodded at Harry, waving his wand delicately through the air. A soft breeze emitted out and a small vibration went through the room, causing Harry to frown. "Privacy Enchantment, Potter—nothing to worry yourself about just yet. Now, the question."

"Er… A duel is formal, I suppose—and a fight isn't…?"

Quirrell clucked his tongue against his teeth, weighing his answer. "Essentially, yes—though I would've liked for you to phrase it better. A duel has rules—you begin with a small bow to show respect to your opponent, and most of the time, there are certain spells that are declared illegal." Harry nodded, standard.

"A fight, however, is without rules. Anything goes. Whoever is the last wizard standing wins, you can do anything and employ any tactic to win.

Quirrell suddenly glanced up at Harry. "Now, tell me Potter: which type of confrontation do you think you will experience for the most part in Slytherin?"

Harry sighed, wiping a hand across his face. "The fights, I guess."

Quirrell indulged him with a solemn nod.

"You must already—perhaps unconsciously—know this: after all, you did put Flint in the Hospital Wing!"

"Yeah, how d'you know about that, by the way?"

Quirrell let loose a Stinging Hex but Harry saw it coming just in time and skipped out of the way, wearing a smug smile to Quirrell's tight-lipped frown. "Ha!"

Just then, his arm stung and he grasped it tightly with a gasp, glaring at Quirrell.

"That's rule number one, Potter: Never get distracted in a fight. It could be your undoing! Understood?"

Harry nodded, still rubbing his arm. How was it that Quirrell managed to get him in the exact same spot, twice? Bloody hell!

"Now, take out your wand—it's time to practice some real magic. Oh, and do make sure to be irritating as ever to Snape, will you—these 'detentions' could be an excellent cover for our lessons!"

Harry whipped out his wand with a snort. "That shouldn't be a problem, at all!"

* * *

**As always, drop a review with your thoughts! The Quirrell! Voldemort mentors Harry twist is something that I haven't ever seen been done, quite honestly, so I'm quite curious to hear what you guys think of it. See you tomorrow, peace!**


	10. Getting Acquainted with thine Foe

Harry dashed through the ajar door, and the bell went off almost in sync with him. Wearing a smug grin, Harry made over to Blaise, who was watching him approach with an amused shake of his head, wiping the sweat onto his robes.

The moment Harry came around to stand beside him, however, the olive-skinned boy went rigid, his eyes turning flinty.

"You smell!" he hissed.

Harry huffed. "Well, nice to see you too!"

To be fair, Blaise probably had a point but Harry couldn't do a whole lot about it.

Greenhouse One wasn't exactly blatantly obvious so he'd been forced to run around in circles in search of it. Of course, nobody had bothered to tell him that it was actually behind the castle. And the Bloody Baron had apparently forgotten to wake him up.

Harry couldn't find it within himself to be angry with himself or the ghost—after all, this waking up before eight o'clock lark wasn't really him. It figured that his true self revealed itself before long.

Of course, it probably had something to do with the 'detention' that he'd had to serve at the hands of Quirrell, who'd only released him around midnight.

That wasn't to say that Harry didn't have ample experience staying up till and past midnight. It was just that generally when he was out past twelve, he was out doing something, or perhaps roped into watching one of those mucky films by Lisa after she went through a break-up.

And sometimes, he even had coffee to help him.

Though, take nothing away from Quirrell—the man transformed the Stinging Hex into a irritatingly effective coffee. Harry spent over half the 'detention' after eleven-thirty jumping up awake after being stung. His dismissal had been a mercy granted from Quirrell.

But it was rather worth it, Harry felt.

True, Quirrell had only taught him one spell but it was a rather handy one: if you couldn't hold your wand, it didn't matter too much just how powerful you were, there was little you could do. Of course, Quirrell made sure to disabuse Harry of the notion of such a spell being all that great. Apparently, wandless magic was a thing that most adults could pull off here and there.

Harry decided not to mention that he'd had similar episodes.

All in all, he was pleased to add the Jelly-Fingers Curse to his arsenal.

Even though, he wouldn't have minded if Quirrell had cut down on the preaching. Quirrell had long periods where he drifted off, cursing the shortcomings—and if you listened to him, there were loads!—of the Wizarding World in a surprisingly bitter and malicious voice.

It made Harry all warm inside to know that Quirrell was teaching and not actually fighting him.

"You were right, you know!"

Harry glanced around. The professor was a squat little witch with a patched, crumbled up hat over her flyaway hair. Her clothes were stained with large blotches of dirt, and the white colour it seemed to have come in was long a thing of the past.

She was giving an explanation of sorts, Harry saw—and people were listening rather attentively, well, except Blaise, obviously.

"Well, of course, I was right," Harry muttered back, out of the corner of his mouth, keeping his eyes squarely on the professor and his ears perked for Blaise. "What about, exactly?"

Blaise snorted and Harry made him out shifting in his seat next to him, leaning closer to Harry.

"Flint was screaming bloody murder yesterday when he returned yesterday before dinner—"

"Isn't it odd that it took so long to get him all patched up?"

"Apparently, they didn't have the Potion ready, you know—'cause the school year just kicked off."

Harry nodded to himself. "You'd think they'd make some in anticipation…"

Blaise snorted again. "You give Dumbledore too much credit, Harry."

They got split in groups of two, each around a Spiky Bush with yellow thorns and needles sticking out. The professor—Sprout, apparently—demonstrated how one went about making the Fire-Making Spell, and let them at it.

Blaise went first, producing a ball of fire that made their bush quiver and spit out one of it's many thorns. Only Harry's quick reactions had him ducking in time.

Still squatting, Harry glanced around only to catch wind of moans of pain and discontent.

"Make sure to give yourself some room! These Spiky Bushes don't particularly like fire."

Blaise shook his head, offering Harry a hand up. "Well, that'd have been useful to know earlier."

Harry spied the Raveclaws—some of them were doing it from a distance. She'd probably said so but Harry and Blaise definitely hadn't been paying attention enough to catch that.

Harry pushed his foot forward and readied himself for a try, himself. "So, how's Lucian?"

Blaise snorted. A ball of fire quivered out of Harry's wand as he shouted out, "Incendio" and this time they were more than prepared for the yellow needle that came their way.

"Oddly quiet. He just seemed really angry yesterday when Flint was describing how he was going to murder you—really went into depth, actually."

"No way."

Blaise was nodding very enthusiastically. "Pergerine doesn't much like your guts, either—thinks you're a bit of a wuss for not showing up in 'the dungeons'—"

Harry shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "Nobody stopping him from coming out to find me—"

Blaise's grin was very wide now. "Yeah, that's what Terrence said—"

"Who?"

Blaise waved him away. "Seventh year—thin bloke… Doesn't matter, anyway—so Pergerine gets all riled, right, and then Farley shows up to break the scuffle up—"

"The Prefect?—"

"Don't think we have any other Farley's in our House, mate—"

Harry shrugged. "Never know."

"Yeah, whatever—but get this, it gets better: So Terrence pushes Farley off of him, right—"

"Wait, she was on him?"

Blaise shrugged. "You know how it is when you're trying to break up a fight. Anyways, she falls onto Tergerine and—I shit you not—he socked her right in front of all us."

Harry felt his jaw drop. "No way."

Blaise was nodding very fast. "Yes fucking way. Pergerine knew he'd fucked up—first off, Farley's a prefect, she can assign detentions and all that good shite, but turns out she's also one of Snape's favourites—"

Harry winced for Pergerine. "Snape personally decided to oversee his detention, as well—Farley said "it should be worth a black eye"—"

Harry snorted. "I'm inclined to believe her—"

Blaise laughed. "What's funnier is Flint apparently had to go beg Snape not to kick Pergerine off the Quidditch Team. And now, they have to hold try-outs for the Beater positions, it's absurd!"

Harry sighed. "That's actually some serious drama!"

"It's not even done yet! So Flint—"

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Zabini!" Harry and Blaise jumped, whirling to face the professor giving them an imploring look.

All around them, students were gathering their pikes off the ground, their Spiky Bush looking green and oddly beautiful. Their plant was in stark contrast, yellow spots in between, sagging and bending over, the spikes and needles difficult to ignore, glinting as they poked out.

So Harry stepped forward and let off another blast of fire.

"Doesn't even matter—I'm basically done, anyway."

"What was that 'bout Flint, again?" He ducked as the thorn came whizzing by.

"Oh—nothing that you haven't heard before, I'm sure—"

"Kill me, dip me in acid and the like?" Blaise chuckled, taking a go at the plant himself, and gave Harry an odd look.

"Yeah, something like that."

They worked on their plant somewhat diligently until the bell went. They were almost done, and Harry really felt he'd done a great job but the professor made sure to come around, clucking her teeth.

"Everyone else's finished, Potter—I hope this is the exception rather than the rule for your sake. But to make sure I want an essay on the Spiky Bush on my desk your next lesson. You too, Mr. Zabini!"

Of course, Malfoy just had to be passing by at that point and he gave Harry a cheeky wink as he exited the class, his bodyguards grunting after him, incidentally blocking Pansy from getting to the blonde-haired boy. It was done so naturally, Harry wondered if Malfoy had put them up to it.

He asked Blaise's opinion on their way to History of Magic and the boy snorted.

"It wouldn't surprise me! Crabbe and Goyle would probably jump off their brooms if Draco told them to; he's literally their brain cells, it's not even funny sometimes how thick they are."

History of Magic was a mess.

It got off to a decent start, as well—which perhaps made it all the worst. The classroom was on the first floor so getting there was far from a hassle: they even somehow managed to arrive before the Ravenclaws, though the 'Claws—as Blaise called them—had left before them.

It was an absolute delight as well to see Malfoy glare at Nott, who decided to keep Pike company for the period, and Pansy cooed with delight at the open seat. "Ooooh Draco!"

Malfoy looked like he'd eaten something foul as he helplessly watched on as Pansy filled in the seat next to him. Crabbe and Goyle arrived just then, and the glare the blonde-haired boy sent them had Harry oddly worried for their immediate well-being.

The Ravenclaws took their time finding their class—arriving just in time to catch the shocker of a beginning: Professor Binns gliding through the blackboard into the room.

They gasped, slack-jawed, pointing shakily. "He's a ghost!" That was a a olive-skinned girl with dark long hair, and she'd done the ends in a plait. She looked like she had Indian heritage.

There came a loud snort. "No, really, pull the other one, Padma!" The boys in the doorway laughed, nudging each other and beaming.

Padma whirled around to glare at the boy, and Harry shared a quick glance with Blaise, wondering if they were about to witness a scuffle in the doorway.

The other Ravenclaws obviously realized tensions were growing because the girls very quickly wrapped their arms around… Padma… and dragged her to the desk next to them.

"Boooo!" That was Blaise—and the vicious glare the girl who'd elected to sit beside the fuming Padma had Harry raising his hands up, struggling not to burst into laughter.

She didn't seem too impressed with him, huffing and turning to face the professor who had apparently already kicked off the lesson—Harry didn't think he'd even noticed what had just played out in his classroom doorway.

The Ravenclaws sorted themselves out with the seating arrangement, having to sit a bit more spread out than usual since the girls had already laid claim to the seats in the front.

The Slytherins—especially Harry and Blaise—had the back seats occupied so it was a tad uncomfortable for the 'Claws sitting right smack in the middle as they got bared down on and when they tried to look ahead and mind their own business, the Ravenclaw girls would turn around so often and make it clear they still weren't all that pleased with them.

Harry tried to pay attention but the professor's voice was rather ideal for kipping. He felt his eyelids grow heavy as the class went on and when he saw Blaise take out a parchment and continue on his drawing from the day before, he decided to let go of all resistance.

He woke up to enraged shouts, blinking furiously and glancing about worriedly.

The Ravenclaws were on their feet, waving their hands, pointing at Blaise—who Harry saw was looking rather proud of himself wearing a smug grin—looking properly livid.

"You're a foul human being, you—"

The bell rang and Blaise shrugged. "I'd love to be able to stay and chat further, ladies—"

Harry grabbed a hold of his rucksack and jumped out of the desk. "But he's gotta run—see ya!"

Blaise thankfully got the hint. The professor disappeared through the board again, his facial expression serious and unchanging and ever—and Harry wondered if this was actually a normal History of Magic lesson. If that was the case, he was looking at a lot of proper kip time, he was very refreshed after his nap.

"By the way, what was that 'bout?"

Blaise smirked, giving a small shrug. "Nuffin' much—I got bored 'cause you were kipping, innit? So I started throwing torn pieces of parchment in their hair—"

"Oh wow…"

"Yeah—Draco got in on the fun, as well, so it's not like it was just me—"

"Didn't see nobody shouting at him…" In fact, Harry hadn't seen the blonde-haired boy.

"Yeah—he took off before the class even ended, the prat—"

"What? You can do that?!"

Blaise shrugged as they came to the junction that took you to the dungeons. "You probably can't but seeing as the professor's a ghost—don't think there's going to be a lot of checking if I'm honest."

"You could always shout out, 'present' for me then I could skive off History, no issue."

Blaise chuckled. "Yeah, that'd cost you a galleon a month."

"Piss off."

Blaise laughed.

The rest of the Slytherins were heading this way, Harry saw, making out Nott whispering furiously with Tracey, and that blonde-haired prissy girl after them, frowning and looking horribly out-of-place.

"...Magic," Nott was saying. "There's nothing funny about it—if we don't know our History—"

"History will repeat itself." Harry felt his lips stretch into a smile at the dull manner that Tracey said that. He caught her eyes and she smiled sadly as they passed by.

The blonde-haired girl nodded at Blaise as she went. "Greengrass."

"What's up with Nott?"

Blaise shrugged. "Who knows? He's a bit of a nerd, though, isn't he? Guess he's livid History can't even compare to Defence Against the Dark Arts, and we all know how shite that was."

Harry nodded, but couldn't help but think back to his 'detention' the night before. "Shocking…"

"Yeah—anyway, are you coming to the try-outs? First-years can't try-out, obviously, but it should be good fun watching Flint have to sort out the Knuts from the Galleons, eh?"

Harry was shaking his head before Blaise had even finished his question, making the olive-skinned boy frown.

"I can't—if Flint sees me—"

"I reckon he's going to have his hands full with the try-outs—he basically called the whole House utter shite yesterday no joke—"

"It's too dangerous, mate!" There was a finality to his words that even Blaise seemed to recognize giving a sigh.

"Alright then, see you at dinner, I guess—if you even show up."

* * *

Harry made sure to arrive at Snape's office a quarter of an hour before he was scheduled to begin detention.

He'd been exploring the castle for a couple of days and—though he was getting rather nicely acquainted with the castle—he didn't think it beyond imagination that a series of oddities would make him late.

He lingered in the corridor until it was almost eight, and then gave a knock.

"Enter!"

Snape's office was as dark and dim as ever, and Harry asked himself just how the sallow-skinned man managed to see, scowling down at a piece of parchment.

The man set down the parchment and glared up at Harry. "Potter!"

He said it with so much _tender love_.

"Sir…"

"Here for your detention, are you?" Snape sneered. "Your father was frequently in detention, as well, did you know?"

Harry's face betrayed his surprise and Snape's sneer deepened even further. "Oh, yes, your father was a scoundrel—he thought himself above us all but lookie here, his son is in my House…" Snape clucked his teeth, chuckling darkly at Harry, whose jaw was uncomfortably tight and rigid. "Nothing to say, Potter?"

A knock sounded and the door creaked open, letting in a hanging face, pouch and pasty, his bulging eyes shining under the sudden glare of a bright lamp, bringing thin grey hair into the picture.

Harry scowled, recognizing Filch: he'd already ran into the man a handful of times roaming the castle the past few days, getting a proper scolding each time. He wiped his face, remembering the spite that had flown onto his face the last time they'd come across each other , incidentally just a couple of hours ago.

Professor Snape nodded. "Off you go, Potter—if you thought Quirrell was bad, enjoy Filch…"

Harry steeled himself and put on a smile. "Oh, I highly doubt that…"

Filch had Harry follow him out of the office, wheezing and shuffling, oddly hunchbacked. His cat waddled ahead of him and at times, Harry wondered if they were all following the cat.

Filch led him to his office and immediately made for the seat behind his desk, sagging into it, wearing a content, pleased smile.

Harry wrinkled his nose: the office had a weird, vague smell… like fried fish. It was a rather small room, all in all, lighted by a single oil lamp hanging from the ceiling. There were lots of filing cabinets spread out around the room against the wall and as Harry watched, Filch stood up, drew a drawer out and pulled out a folder, and there was a piece of parchment in there.

"Name… Potter, Harry! Year… First! House: Gryffindor—"

Harry cleared his throat. "Slytherin!"

The man glanced up at Harry, scowling something fierce. "What was that?" he growled, his voice similar to the croak of a frog.

"I'm in Slytherin… sir!"

The man remained still for a while, taking his merry time processing that. And then he shrugged. "I suppose you can't be everything like your wretched father."

Harry swallowed down his thoughts, and removed his hands from his pocket, so as to put some distance between his hands and his wand.

"Offence: Disrespecting a Professor—"

"I didn't—" Harry stopped himself, running a hand over his face. It didn't have any purpose, after all. "I'm sorry—do carry on!"

Filch sneered at him. "Punishment: Chain oiling…"

Harry blinked at that, still slack-jawed when the man had finished tucking the parchment back into the folder. "Excuse me?!" Filch returned the folder back to the drawer, and now Harry could make out a small 'P' dangling from that particular cabinet.

Filch smiled a cynical smile when he saw Harry's repulsion.

"I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh? Oh, yes… hard work and pain are the best teachers, if you ask me! It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out… hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still, see—need to keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed… Right, off we go, and don't think of pulling off any naughty tricks like your father used to do, now. It'll be worse for you if you do."

And before Harry's eyes, the man reached under his desk and pulled out live actual chains and a bottle full with oil.

It had been horrible—the chains were sharp and rather old. It was hard to get a whole lot done without getting scraped in some shape or form. And, of course, Filch was always on hand to shout Harry back to work the moment his attention took off, stuffing his mouth with fries and chips that a "house-elf" had delivered for him, popping inside the office halfway through the detention.

His hands ached the next day and his shoulders were oddly stiff. He scowled at that—he was obviously very out-of-shape, after all, the rugby season had ended just before summer, and the basketball season just before spring.

Blaise smiled as Harry arrived for Defence Against the Dark Arts. The whole of Slytherin was present with Draco sneering at his entrance, and he thought he made out all the Hufflepuffs—MacMillan scowling at the sight of him.

"Where's Quirrell?" he asked as he slid behind the desk, taking up the seat next to Blaise.

A shrug. "Not even a clue—and just what happened to you, Potter? You look like you were in the Forbidden Forest last night."

Professor Quirrell came bursting through the door then, wheezing and panting, stuttering his apologies and Harry frowned.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting: the 'detention' Quirrell or Defence Against the Dark Arts Quirrell, but he wasn't all too pleased about having to suffer through another one of these useless Defence lessons.

"I'll tell you this—you don't want to get detention from Filch, he's full-on, very properly crackers—like screws-loose sort of crackers."

Blaise grimaced and Harry nodded as his hand spasmed. He scowled, focusing on the professor who was fumbling over calling the roll, rolling his eyes as Quirrell dropped the parchment once again.

As Quirrell segued into a speech about the dangers of magic and the bravery of Aurors, Harry dug into his rucksack and dug out _Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_, dropping into the desk with a huff.

The fact that his teacher was as incompetent as shite didn't mean he didn't have three fifth-years that wouldn't pass up the chance to pummel him mercilessly into the ground.

As he turned over pages to Chapter Seven—where he'd left off the night before—he thought he made out a red glint in Quirrell's eyes as he nodded at Harry.

Of course, when he looked to make sure he wasn't dreaming, Quirrell was stuttering and dropped his wand.

Harry clucked his teeth and flipped the page.

* * *

**Double for the weekend? My treat! **

**How'd you like that?!**


	11. Two Sides to Every Tale

"Stay behind, will you, Mr. Potter…?" Quirrell asked in that voice of his that irritated him so.

Blaise paused in his packing but Harry waved him off.

Malfoy whacked him over the head as he swaggered out of the class, sniggering at his indignation, his two goons forcefully making a way through the door, never mind that it was rammed to the roof.

Harry waited till everyone had departed—even Susan Bones, scowling, and another two girls picking up their books that had fallen thanks to Crabbe and Goyle, though she seemed to take quite a while longer than even her friends, lingering, shuffling her feet and glancing about with no real purpose.

Quirrell was standing behind his desk, his eyes glinting red. "You didn't show up for 'detention' yesterday…" His stutter was gone was the first thing he noticed and he frowned.

Of course, the moment he realized that Quirrell was stroking his wand, his frown was for a very different reason. He raised his arms out to wave the professor off.

"Woah, woah, woah—it's not like I skived off if that's what you're thinking. Snape assigned me to Filch, is all."

Quirrell stilled and then pocketed his wand. "Filch? The caretaker?"

"Uh… Yeah."

The professor sneered and then nodded, sinking to his seat. "I'll have to have a word with your Head of House, then—assure him that you were most traumatized my detention, perhaps even spin a tale of you jumping at the sight of me today in class…"

It was very elaborate but Harry shrugged, figuring if it got him back learning spells instead of oiling chains, he was all for it.

"It's amusing, is it not, just how much hate he has for your father… Just how much need he has for revenge…"

Quirrell's words rang in his head as he made his way to Transfiguration. He'd been hearing a shitload about his father, and he'd only been at Hogwarts three days.

He was late, and Professor McGonagall stared at him, tight-lipped as he came through the door.

"Professor Quirrell held me up, Professor, I—"

McGonagall nodded, waving him inside the class. "Very well." Harry closed his mouth and entered. He snorted at Malfoy's disappointed scowl and slid behind an empty desk, noticing that he was to sit alone—Blaise was seated beside a pig-tailed blonde girl he recognized as Abbott, Hannah from the Sorting. Harry got a shrug for his inquisitive look.

It was a rather interesting lesson—McGonagall went about explaining why most of them were unsuccessful with their Transfigurations last time out.

She even asked Harry to explain what specifically he'd done that they probably hadn't, though she'd probably been banking on a bit more than the shrug he gave her, and the "I just did!"

He was distracted the whole lesson, his mind elsewhere and he needed the whole lesson to finally get the Mice to Snuffleboxes Transfiguration down, and Malfoy was very smug—he'd completed the Snufflebox to Mice Transfiguration rather early into the lesson and the Mice to Snufflebox Transfiguration a whole half hour before Harry.

Blaise came around after the bell, holding his struggling mouse by the tail and Harry laughed. "That's got to be some of the best five points you'll ever earn."

Blaise shrugged, waving his mouse about and it began to shriek. "Draco just picked up thirty." McGonagall had been rather impressed by Malfoy's quick time, and she'd been giving Harry worried glances as he floundered the spell repeatedly. His success at the end had only earned him ten points.

"Well, can't do anything—"

"Mr. Zabini!" McGonagall sounded outraged and came about and snatched the mouse out of Blaise's hands, who looked sheepish. Susan Bones giggled, leaving with her friends, the blonde-haired girl with pigtails that had sat with Blaise and she waved at him.

Harry gave Blaise a glance and the boy shrugged back at him. "What?!"

They were the only ones in the class left. "Nothing. You heading to lunch right now?"

"Nah—short stop at the Dungeons—"

"Okay, I'll see you in the Great Hall later then."

Harry waited for Blaise to leave before approaching McGonagall and she seemed to be expecting him, watching him through her spectacles very intently.

"Another question, Potter…?" It was almost rhetorical.

Harry tried for a smile, though it came out horribly weak. "Yes… Did you… I mean—that is to say…" Harry sighed and McGonagall was looking at him with a cocked brow. "Did you know my father, Professor?"

The professor blinked at him very furiously, and then her face softened, her wrinkles suddenly getting a whole lot pronounced and her hands came to her heart.

Harry felt his lips tighten. "It's just that—"

But McGonagall was already shaking her head. "Your father was an exceptional wizard, Potter—brilliant at Transfiguration—he…" McGonagall sighed. "I was Head of House, of course—he was Gryffindor, as you know—"

Harry didn't feel like interrupting her now that he'd gotten her talking just to let her know that he hadn't, in fact, known that his father had been a Gryffindor, at all.

"Very charismatic, incredibly popular—everyone adored him—"

"Everyone?" A sallow-skinned man popped up in his mind.

That seemed to draw McGonagall out of her memories, pulling up short. "Well—when he stepped out of the folly of his youth… Yes, yes, why everyone—or at least those that mattered.

"Do not misunderstand me—he was a troublemaker, on that there can be no discussion!" She looked him in the eye, nodding very fast. "Oh, the grey hairs he caused me!" She gave a laugh that quickly turned into a giggle and Harry gave a chuckle, just so that he didn't come across as odd standing before a giggling professor.

"With his friends—Lupin and Pettigrew and—" She sighed, her face turning cloudy and wrinkled again.

Harry just couldn't help himself. "I'm sorry—did you say Lupin?" McGonagall nodded. "As in Remus Lupin?"

Another nod, and now she was looking at Harry like he wasn't quite alright. Which, to be fair, he didn't feel like he was. "Is there a problem, Potter?"

Harry thought back to the shabby-dressed and oddly tired, worn-out looking man who'd presented him his Hogwarts letter and indirectly brought him into the Wizarding World. Why hadn't he mentioned—not even a word—

"I'm fine, Professor!" He wiped a hand across his face, his face going stone cold, hard. "Thank you for your time again."

* * *

Blaise nudged Harry, leaning in. "What's it with you tonight?" he whispered, glancing around to make sure the Astronomy professor wasn't witnessing their little chat.

He had very little to worry about.

Professor Sinistra had her hands full, teaching the wizards how to use a telescope. Everybody was provided a telescope but that didn't mean they knew what to do with it.

"Well?!" Blaise implored Harry.

He shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "It's nuffin', Blaise—just tired, you know."

Blaise gave him a flat look. "Right, I'm sure." He turned back to his telescope very pointedly and Harry sighed, picking up on the thick awkward air.

Thankfully, Professor Sinistra soon rounded the class up after finally getting everyone to understand how to use a telescope. She dismissed them and they sluggishly trudged out of the class, very few words being exchanged.

Harry nodded at Blaise in parting and took off along the corridor, resigning himself to what he was certain was going to be a long night.

It was quite a walk to the staircase that would transport one to the West Tower, and Harry's legs were rather heavy by the time he got there. His skin prickled and he frowned, whirling about sharply.

It was Malfoy and his two goons, a few steps away. Harry thought they must have been hiding behind the armour—he figured it was the only way he could've missed them.

"What's this, then, Malfoy?—Following me around or summin'?"

Malfoy sneered at him. "You wish, Potter, you're not worth my time—I just happened to have some business out here this evening, is all."

Harry chuckled. "That right? Decided Astronomy wasn't enough action for the evening, did you? Brought Dumb and Dumber along for the ride, as well, I see…"

Malfoy's face tightened as the two boys suddenly glanced at him and Harry thought he even made out a faint blush, and he smiled.

"Go crawl back into whatever hole you sleep in, Potter—your bed is a proper waste of space in our dormitory."

Crabbe and Goyle nodded hard at that, grunting their approval and Harry snorted, reaching for his wand.

"Waste of space, am I?" He saw Malfoy's eyes go wide, and then it turned into a smug sneer as the blonde-haired boy lifted up his chin defiantly.

"You wouldn't dare!"

Harry spared him but a glance before he whipped off the Leg-Locker Curse twice, and Crabbe and Goyle both stared, dumbfounded, as the purple beam of light raced their way and swallowed them whole, their bodies staggering as they slumped to the ground.

And then, horrifyingly slowly, the bodies almost at the same time began to roll and then dropped onto the first stair, and then the next, and then, and the next—

"What the bloody fuck?! Stop it—"

Harry gave a shocked laugh. "Me?! I'm not doing anything—"

"Hear that, my sweet?" came a sudden voice and Harry stopped, his eyes going wide.

He found Malfoy's wide eyes, panicked. "Filch!"

Harry nodded. "RUN!"

And they took off. Malfoy kept up rather easily with him, they ducked behind walls, and dashed into any open corridor they found, panting wildly and looking about in panic, their necks heavy on their head, hearts pounding loudly in their chest and by the time they made it to the sixth floor, they were both out-of-breath and panting heavily.

"I think we lost him," Harry said, bent-over.

Malfoy didn't respond, slumped against the wall.

"We have to go back… Crabbe and Goyle—"

"You can do whatever you want, Malfoy but you're bang out of order if you think I'm gonna stick my neck out for those two pricks."

Malfoy flushed. "Oi! Those are my friends you're talking about—"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Right, because that matters to me—"

"You created this mess, you should bloody well have to fix it—"

"Fat chance of that!"

Malfoy dropped his head into his hands, moaning. "Snape's going to skin me alive."

Harry snorted. "That's a right shame—wonder what that's like, having Snape go off at you—"

"He's going to be livid at you, as well—"

"Already is, mate, if you hadn't noticed."

"But—" Malfoy stalled in his glancing around, his mouth hanging open and Harry cocked a brow.

"What?"

"Is this the Trophy Room?"

Harry looked around. There were large shelves covered with cups and trophies and the walls were covered with plates, shields and medals. There was also a large crystal display with other trophies in there, glinting brightly still.

He'd already been here twice but that didn't mean he actually knew what the place was called.

"Must be—"

Malfoy shot to his feet, suddenly beaming and eyes glinting. "This is bloody excellent—I knew I could find it."

Harry frowned at the boy's proud, satisfied smile, wondering just what he was missing.

A creak sounded and he stilled, motioning to Malfoy to zip his trap. The boy rolled his eyes back at him and together, they crept forward in search of whoever had just entered the room.

"I don't think he's here yet," someone was saying. "Think he chickened out?"

Harry thought that sounded like Weasley, and Malfoy, himself, was bouncing with delight as they crept forward, practically shaking with excitement.

"It's three past midnight, though—he could just be on his way."

There was further mutterings but too quiet for him to make out. As they came to the end of a crystal display, Harry craned his neck past and sharply drew it back out.

Malfoy was caught unprepared and yelped, jumping back and an echoing sound went off.

Harry glanced at Malfoy, his eyes communicating his displeasure but Malfoy was already scuttling backwards, dragging himself back with his feet, grimacing tightly.

Footfalls sounded and Harry and Malfoy shared a panicked glance, Malfoy's outstretched arms out in question and Harry just shrugged.

The moment Weasley burst into view, he wilted under the purple streak of light from Harry's wand, his legs snapping together and he crumbled to the ground.

Longbottom stared down at Weasley, wide-eyed and slack-jawed and Harry snorted.

And then Malfoy was on his feet, whispering the spell and just like that, Longbottom had his legs snapped together, as well, crumbling to the ground.

Malfoy gave a delighted chuckle. "Well, now, that's more like it, I say."

Weasley was glaring at them with venom in his eyes, his face a tight, unforgiving frown. "Slimy snakes!" he spat, his face stone hard, "of course you jumped me. You know you couldn't take me in a real fight."

Longbottom was wriggling and squirming, his face scrunched up in concentration and Harry laughed.

"What's the matter, Longbottom? I reckon you look good like that. Be a good rat for Weasley." Malfoy laughed with him, though the two Gryffindors didn't seem to find the humour in it.

A 'meow' sounded and the two Slytherins stilled, looking at each other in horror. "Filch!"

"They're here, my sweet! I can feel it!" A meow responded and Harry pointed forward and they burst into a panicked, frenzied getaway, easily ignoring Weasley's and Longbottom's desperate cries for help.

Down a staircase, and another, yet another corridor, they sprinted down the corridor, their footfalls making a rhythm against the marble floor and their breathing was surely too loud, surely somebody could hear them—

Yet another staircase—

They yelped, taking hasty steps back, looking up into a suit of armour towering over them, and as they watched, the arm on the suit of armour rose, sword in it's grasp and began heading down on them—

Harry felt his arm give a tug and suddenly, he was being pulled away, his mouth still open in a shrill scream, his heart being wildly and the floor trembled as a loud clank went off—

"This way!"

Their feet drummed against the staircase, rapid and hurried with no sense of direction, their necks flitting every which way—

"We're dead, we're dead, we're sooo dead!" Draco moaned.

"Why did I even come out here?!"

"This way!" Harry said, sighing in relief, pointing to the Grand Staircase. "This is the Third floor—look, that's where we have Charms—"

"Who goes there?"

The two boys skidded to an immediate halt, turning to face each other, eyes wide in horror, Draco shaking his head very fast and muttering very fast to himself: "No, no, no! This can't be happening, this can't happen to me—"

Harry grabbed at his arm, his jaw clenched and tugged hard, pulling the boy away with him—

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry said through gritted teeth, bringing his arm out to pull the door open but it wouldn't budge, not even when he tried again, and again with all his might and Harry slumped against the door, his body trembling and a desperate sound went through him—

"Move over—"

Harry was shoved to the side, and he frowned, balling his fists at Malfoy—the same pillock who'd caused this, had it not been for him, Harry wouldn't be standing in front of some stupid door, about to get expelled most likely—

The door clicked and swung open before him with a quiet creak, and Harry's jaw dropped open.

"Well! Come on, or would you like to get stuck in detention again or even expelled?!"

That was all the prompting Harry needed and he quickly made his way around the door and they both worked together, hands jutted out and they pushed, and the door slammed shut behind them, and they let out a sigh of relief, slumping.

"Fucking hell—that was close, am I right?!"

"Too close for comfort," Malfoy said, turning around, "I'm not going out again—ARGH!"

"What?" Harry said, whirling about—and then he saw just quite what Draco was on about!

They were looking straight into the orbs of a monster, a horrible monster, the sort which you only saw in the films, complete with heads— heads, three heads, not one—and eyes, three pairs of rolling, blinking, mad eyes, three noses, sniffing, twitching, and quivering noses in their direction; three drooling mouths, the trapdoor under their paws drenched in saliva from their yellowish fangs and they were growling murderously—and Harry wondered how it could be that they were even still alive—

And he wilted, his eyes going droopy, his legs going weak and his body began trembling—

Another loud growl sounded and then a thud but Harry couldn't make much sense of anything, for him everything was slow, and blurry and suddenly, wind slapped him in the face and he was coughing, rough, scratching coughs that hurt his throat—

"You alright, Potter?"

His sight returned to him slowly.

They were slumped against the trapdoor, panting and breathing heavily and just behind them, scratching noises sounded and moaning sounds, pained moaning sounds sounded.

Malfoy began laughing earnestly, his body shaking in his amusement. It was loud and it was foolish because anyone could catch them out at any moment but Harry soon cracked down, as well, finding it horribly funny and laughing, as well.

"Shite—what a night; you realize Weasley's going to be in an awful lot of trouble tomorrow?"

Harry nodded, slowly pushing to his feet. "McGonagall's going to tear him a proper one."

Malfoy's smile was large and rather scary. "Breakfast's going to be a brilliant." Harry nodded.

"I'm definitely going to be there." The two shared a laugh.

"You're alright, Potter." Malfoy nodded to himself, like he was trying to convince himself he believed what he was saying

Harry rolled his eyes. "I suppose you could be worse, Malfoy—I mean, look at Longbottom."

Malfoy snorted. "You reckon Filch knows the Leg-Locker Curse?"

Harry shrugged, pushing off the wall, his breathing back to a normal level. "I should hope so—he's only like seventy years old or something like that." Malfoy stared at him oddly, long and hard. "What?!"

"Nuffin'!"

Harry shrugged and they began walking away, Harry rather shakily and Malfoy offered him a shoulder to throw his arm around, towards the staircase. He put his left hand into his pocket as a wind blew by, and yawned. He came to a screeching halt as his hands closed around the parchment in his pocket and the ink bottle.

"Fuck!"

Malfoy sprung away from him, looking shocked. "Well…!"

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You wouldn't happen to know where the Owlery is, would you?"

Malfoy nodded. "Top of the West-Tower. Why?"

Harry sighed, bringing out his parchment for Malfoy to see. "I wanted to mail this to someone."

Malfoy gave him a tight smile. "Tell you what—you help me get back to 'the Dungeons' safe and sound—you're sleeping out again, aren't you?"

Harry's look was flat and unimpressed. "Do Flint and his lads still want to murder me?"

Malfoy gave an unconcerned shrug. "Very much so—you've even got Flint learning new spells, I hear; and Quidditch try-outs was an absolute joke, I can't wait to try-out next-year—"

"Yeah, that's bril, Malfoy—but what were you going to say?"

"What?" Harry rolled his eyes and Malfoy snapped his finger, patting a singular stray hair back into his place. Harry scowled, noting that the boy still looked exceptionally well-put-together—no absurd wrinkles on his robes, tie still well done and the boy just exuded something Harry couldn't quite put his hand on.

"Oh, right—so get me back to 'the Dungeons' and tomorrow morning, right? I want you to let me take all the credit for the Weasley-Longbottom thing…"

Harry felt his jaw drop. "I'll take you to the Owlery myself, I swear it, just—"

"Fine!" Harry spat out and Malfoy shut up, beaming. "Let's get this over with!"

* * *

"You reckon he's telling the truth?" Blaise asked the next day, stabbing his sausage rather violently and nodding down at Malfoy—who was being surrounded by a proper throng of Slytherins, and even as they watched, Flint gave Malfoy a slap on the back as he and his goons left the Hall. They didn't forget to glare at Harry, and he didn't forget to roll his eyes and shrug at them.

Harry downed the last of his pumpkin juice. "Why wouldn't he be? I mean, we all saw the hourglass…"

He'd waited for Blaise at the staircase from a distance, just in case Flint and his friends showed up and he ended up in trouble. The two of them had been part of a rather large group of—not just Slytherins—entering the Great Hall about half an hour ago.

The whispers had broken out immediately, the hissings and the confused frowns, pointing at the hourglasses—after all, one could hardly enter the Great Hall without taking note of the House points hourglass.

And, apparently, Gryffindor had a whole fifty points less than they'd had the night before, their hourglass now strikingly empty.

Theories had flown off immediately, the most popular being that the Weasley Twins had probably been caught out while organizing some type of prank. Harry had choked on his pumpkin juice when he'd heard that theory and had to wave off Blaise's concern as he broke down into laughter.

Lee Jordan had shown up not long after, his dreadlocks standing up as he saw the hourglass. "What the actual fuck?!" He'd rushed to his table and began discussing with his Housemates and everyone concluded that perhaps the Weasley twins weren't responsible for this one.

Or—like Blaise had gone on to speculate—they'd left Jordan out of their latest prank…

Malfoy had arrived not ten minutes later, wearing a smug smile as he sat down, just a few seats away from Harry, and began to explain how he was responsible for Gryffindor's downfall.

According to Malfoy—and he basically had all of Slytherin (those that were present, anyway) listening to him—Weasley'd challenged him to a Wizarding's duel the night before at midnight. He'd been so confident that he'd beat Weasley that he'd accepted. He'd defeated Weasley—who'd brought Longbottom along to get an edge, it turned out—and Longbottom with the Leg-Locker Curse and then run to Filch to report that Weasley and Longbottom were out of bed.

Everybody was very impressed with Malfoy, thumping him on the back, giving him admiring glances and nodding approvingly at him. Pansy Parkinson was trying to penetrate the circle of admirers but she was having absolutely no luck, huffing and throwing her arms up in frustration.

Blaise had his eyes narrowed as he nibbled a piece of bread. "Dunno, I just think there's summin' off 'bout his story…"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Like what, Blaise?"

Blaise harrumphed. "I don't know—"

"Well then, maybe drop it, yeah?"

Blaise dropped his bread, turning his frown onto Harry. "You're remarkably…" Blaise struggled for the right word, his arms dancing in the air. "Meh… about this whole situation—I thought you hated Malfoy?"

Harry snorted, grabbing an apple. "Malfoy's a knobhead—I can't be bothered to actually loathe him, that'd be a waste of energy." Blaise didn't seem too taken with Harry's explanation, eyes still narrowed and baring into Harry now with suspicion.

Harry decided it'd be smart to take his leave now. He grabbed his rucksack and nodded at Blaise. "See you in History."

Blaise's nod was weak and his "Yeah" even weaker and Harry gave a small smile, his stomach churning and turning at his dishonesty. He felt Blaise's burning eyes on him all the way but remained staring ahead.

As he crossed the door, he made out Weasley shuffling his feet towards the Great Hall, head lowered. He smiled.

"Everything alright, Weasley?" He laughed as the boy's head snapped up and coloured at an incredible rate, and his fists clenched. "What're you gonna do, Weasley? At this rate, Gryffindor's going to be in the negative by the end of the day."

Weasley glanced up at the Hourglass in confusion, his jaw dropping as his eyes finally saw the empty Gryffindor hourglass. "Merlin above, what have I done?!"

Harry laughed, skipping away.

Harry nodded at Malfoy as the boy burst out of the Great Hall and the two fell into an easy walk, the sun setting in the distance.

"Did you enjoy my story this morning, Potter?"

Harry nodded at Susan Bones—accompanied by Hannah Abbott—as they began climbing up the staircase. "I thought it was a bit long-winded if I'm being honest—"

Malfoy's face tightened. "Yes, well—nobody asked your opinion—"

Harry laughed. "You just did, mate."

There was an awkward silence that lasted the whole way after that as they walked. There was a rigidness to Malfoy's gait and the way his soles sank into the ground really hard made it quite obvious that the blonde-haired boy was rather angry.

Harry was more than relieved when Malfoy ground to a halt at the edge of a dirt footpath, gesturing vaguely around him. "Well, here we are, Potter—the Owlery's just at the top."

Harry nodded at him, even sparing him a smile. "Thanks, really appreciate it!"

Malfoy didn't nod back, nor smile, just turned around and soon enough, all Harry could make out was a vague shape steadily getting smaller as the darkness swallowed more and more of it.

There was a staircase at the end of the footpath, and there was another footpath to the right but Harry regarded it with a frown, quite clearly hearing hooting and chirping coming from the staircase.

"Urgh!"

The Owlery was covered almost entirely in straw, owl droppings and what looked to have once been the skeletons of mice and voles. It was circular and made out of stone, with a cool wind blowing in through the glass-less windows. The owls, themselves, were nestled on perches that rose even to the top of the tower.

The owls were watching him sharply and Harry fidgeted nervously, feeling rather silly as he cocked his head about, looking for his owl but he couldn't quite pick out her deep raven feathers.

He cleared his throat, and—trying to ignore that voice that was mocking him in his own head—called out, "Hedwig!" Nothing happened and Harry felt his face grow warm as the stares seemed to get even more glaring.

"Hedwig! Uh, if you're here—"

Harry sighed, and dug into his pocket, deciding to read over his letter once more.

_Greetings Mr. Lupin_,

Harry grimaced at that. It was rather formal and distant, and perhaps that'd be hurtful to the man.

His face tightened and he read on; after all, he wasn't sending the letter to coddle the man—he was quite a bit put out by him, honestly.

_I hope this letter finds you in good health. The only two times I've seen you, you've looked rather worse for wear. _

_You asked to know what my House was: well, here goes, I'm Slytherin. I suppose that's somewhat of a shock to you and all._

_It was quite a shock for me, as well, to learn that you knew my father. And quite well, in fact; McGonagall says you were one of his best friends. _

_It makes me wonder just what right you believe you have to barge back into my life after all these years. I wonder just what my father would think of you, if he were still alive, what he'd make of your behaviour: abandoning his son for all these years._

_In case, you hadn't caught on yet, (after all, you Gryffindors ARE supposed to be something quite dense) sir, I'm rather vexed at you._

_Potter._

* * *

**And another chapter is in the books. I appreciate all your reviews, they spur me on to write faster and better!**

**I might post again later tonight because I'm not sure I can post tomorrow since I have my schedule booked unfortunately. Hope you guys enjoy the chapter, REVIEW if you do or even if you don't lol, and I'll see you next time, peace!**


	12. Out to Get You

Harry made sure to arrive extra-early for Potions class on Friday morning but that turned out to be a proper mistake.

Weasley, Longbottom and two other boys arrived not even a minute after Harry and he wisely brought out his wand, feeling the energy crackle and burn, heating up.

Weasley's lips tightened and the sandy-haired boy stepped forward, fists clenched. Harry took a worried step back but he needn't worry: Longbottom wrapped his chubby hands around the boy bringing him to a halt.

"You do realize we're in the dungeons, right?" Longbottom sounded incredulous. "It's not even a stretch saying Snape'd expel us at this point."

The sandy-haired boy looked mutinous, eyes hard and unrelenting and his fists still clenched. "Fine!" he finally spat out.

"He's not worth it, anyways!" Weasley said in a disgusted manner.

Harry scowled at that. "We both know what happened in the Trophy Room, Weasley—"

"You jumped me!" Weasley said, enraged, and Longbottom lay a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Weasley—I didn't lose my House fifty points in one night, so—"

Weasley made forward but this time, the dark-skinned boy in the back quickly wrapped his arms around him, hanging onto him and holding him back. "Thank Merlin you're here, as well, Dean…" Longbottom breathed out, wearing a relieved smile.

"Like you said, Ron—he's not worth it—come on, let it go!"

Harry sneered, oddly stung by that. "I'm worth more than all of you combined and _your _mother twice, Weasley!"

Weasley shrugged off "Dean" with the most disgusting of ease and stormed towards Harry, who had frozen as he made out the sandy-haired boy also storming forward.

The door to the classroom burst open and the tension seemed to shatter right there but it immediately returned in a darker, thicker cloud wearing Snape's unblinking sour expression.

The Gryffindors straightened immediately, staring at Snape with what they probably thought were innocent expressions.

Snape sneered. "What're you doing here? Class isn't to start for another ten minutes." He was looking at Weasley.

The red-haired boy blinked at the intensity of Snape's scowl. "Er… We… Early, sir..." He cleared his throat. "We wanted to make sure we were on time, sir."

Snape looked far from convinced, despite all the nodding that Longbottom and "Dean" did to back Weasley up. Perhaps, the sandy-haired boy's mutinous frown contributed.

"Get inside—and be glad I'm not taking off points…"

The potions classroom was actually a dungeon. It was cold and it was definitely the biggest class he'd seen at Hogwarts so far. He made straight for the back of the classroom, keeping his composure remarkably well when he saw the pickled animals in the jars lining the walls.

The Slytherins took their time showing up, in small groups of two or three. The Gryffindors arrived as one singular unit, taking up the rows in the front in what Harry thought was a daft move, Snape watched them do so with narrowed eyes.

Blaise showed up right behind Malfoy and his bodyguards, sliding up next to Harry with an easy nod.

"Missed you at breakfast…"

Harry shrugged. "Skipped it."

The bell went off and Snape gave his wand a sharp flick and the door snapped shut.

With the door closed, the sallow-skinned man's beetle eyes seemed to scuttle more and he almost looked like a ghost hovering before them.

"First things first—there will be very little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic… I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes… the delicate power of liquids that creep through the human veins, bewitching the minds, ensnaring the senses...

"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper to death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach, that is, of course."

Harry glanced at Blaise, wondering if the boy was gifted at Potions. Along with Harry and Malfoy, Blaise—and Nott—were generally the first to get spells down in class so there was a fair chance.

"Potter!" Harry sat up straight in his seat, trying to look sharp. "The school's up in arms about your arrival—let's see if you deserve even a slimmer of your fame: How many uses of dragon-blood are there, hmm?"

Harry's mouth began moving wordlessly as his mind drew blank. What the…?!

He glanced at Blaise out of the corner of his eye and found him making out a one and a two, and gulped, running a hand through his hair. He almost lost his composure at the demented, gleeful expression that Snape wore, leaning forward but managed to bite the insides of his cheek and hold on.

"Twelve, sir."

He made out that bushy-haired girl—Granger—slump and Snape sniff. "Opened a book before class, did you? Let's see how much of it actually stuck: what flower is Asphodel related to, Potter?"

Harry gulped, realizing he was truly fucked here. He glared at Granger's swaying hand and Weasley's smug smile.

"You don't know…?" came Snape's mocking voice and that sandy-haired boy snorted at Harry. "Some—"

"I just—I can't remember—"

"Is that so?" Malfoy laughed, and that seemed to be some sort of cue for the Slytherins to start laughing at him, and Weasley and his band of twits joined in, as well.

Harry flushed, and Blaise gave him a tight smile. "An Ashodel is related to a—a—that is—"

"Yes, Potter?" The laughter got louder and now, Harry could clearly make out Pansy's shrill laughter above the rest.

Harry sighed and then gave a shrug, figuring it was at least worth a shot. "A Lily…?"

It got quiet all of a sudden, everyone focusing on Snape to see if Harry'd gotten right. Blaise gave him a soft punch in the shoulder, grinning and nodding approvingly.

"Really?"

"A lucky guess, Potter, but right nonetheless—" Snape sneered at him, but turned to face the Gryffindors, and Harry sighed a sigh of relief, looking on as Weasley sagged in his seat, hoping not to get called.

"Longbottom!" The boy in question gave a squeak of fright and Harry joined in laughing at him. "Potter here managed to tell us what plant Asphodel is a member of—give me another name for Asphodel!"

Longbottom gave a relieved sigh and Harry frowned, and so did Snape, his face turning from that eager, awaiting smile to that foul, almost constipated face.

"Royal Staff, sir!"

Granger's hand fell limp once again and Harry snorted at her dejected face.

"Let's see if Weasley's learnt how to read already—his brothers hadn't by first-year…" The Slytherins laughed and Weasley flushed red, gripping his desk very tight.

"Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar, hmm, Weasley?"

Weasley looked like a fish out of water, his mouth opening and closing, glancing around helplessly. Longbottom shrugged at him, and the sandy-haired looked equally lost.

The Slytherins began laughing and Snape sneered. "Of course… it just had to be a Weasley…"

They soon set out to work, Snape made the instructions appear on the board to the Boil Cure. Harry was pleased he got to work with Blaise, and even more so at the end of the class when his group ended up being one of the few to actually turn in a potion that had that blue colour with pink smoke sashaying out of their cauldron.

They ended up being dismissed earlier than time when Malfoy sabotaged Longbottom and Weasley's potion; though, like Blaise said, "their potion was a cauldron of shite anyways!"

Harry moved away from Snape for the first time with a decent feeling.

* * *

Blaise showed up rather late to dinner that night—the table was practically bursting to the rim when he finally arrived—and the boy rushed to Harry's side.

"Why weren't you at Flying class?" he asked in greeting.

Harry paused, his roasted chicken suspended in the air as he turned to Blaise who was looking at him urgently.

"I'm sorry…?"

"We had Flying lessons—you know to help you learn fly—"

Harry shook his head. "That wasn't on the timetables." He moaned as he devoured his roasted chicken.

Blaise oh'd. He nodded to himself. "It all makes sense now—you wouldn't have seen the notice on the Noticeboard—"

"Well, no, I haven't been there in a while—"

"Exactly!" Blaise nodded to himself, happily getting started on his meal.

"So, anything interesting happen?"

Blaise shrugged, getting started on his shepherd's pie. "Longbottom almost fell off his broom—"

Harry snorted. "Figures the great lump would die like that—though, props to him, I suppose, for hanging on—"

"Maybe. Malfoy was, by far, the best flyer, though—even Hooch said so, that's the name of the professor, awarded him fifteen points after he did a little lap around the pitch…" Blaise sighed, downing a glass of orange juice. "You just know he's going to be even more insufferable because of this, as well."

Almost as if the universe wanted to prove Blaise right, Malfoy came swaggering into the Hall just then, Crabbe and Goyle looking clunky and out-of-place hurrying after him.

"What did I just say?"

Just then, Flint showed up, as well, and Harry tensed. Of course, he knew the boy didn't dare try anything in the Great Hall but you never knew for certain… a moment of madness…

Harry frowned, realizing Flint was heading his way and he exchanged a quick, worried glance with Blaise just as Flint stopped before him, showing Harry his sharp teeth. He gulped.

"There something you want, Flint? If not, I suggest you clear off; I'm trying to eat over here and you're really not helping the food go down with your face."

Flint sneered at Harry. "You think you're so tough, don't you, Potter, just 'cause you got one spell off against us, you caught us off-guard, is all—"

Harry snorted. "Would you look at that? Three fifth-years caught off-guard by a lone firstie? Wonders shall never end, huh?"

Flint pursed his lips and exhaled. "Well, are you all ready yet or not?"

Harry let his cutlery fall back into his plate. "Ready for what?"

Flint was frowning down at him in confusion. "You didn't—Snape didn't—" The boy snarled in frustration and Harry glanced at Blaise in confusion, only getting an equally lost shrug in return.

Luckily for them, Snape was stomping down their way, warm as ever. "Potter—follow Mr. Flint to the Quidditch pitch; he will instruct your Flying lesson since you missed your Flying lesson today."

Harry choked on his spite, coughing. "You can't be serious—"

Snape had already turned his back to Harry, but he stopped and glanced over his shoulder and he suddenly regretted his words. "Oh, I assure you, Potter—I am very serious! Flint here is Quidditch captain, there are few better fliers than him here at Hogwarts. That'll be an extra week of detention for your cheek."

Harry was still floundering and stuttering even after Snape had left back to the High Table. Flint didn't look all that delighted, as well, which Harry thought was rather odd.

"Well, Potter?! Done stuffing your face already? I should probably let you know that eating before flying is not the brightest idea." Flint looked right furious, hands crossed against his chest and glaring down at Harry.

"Yes, well, it's not like I knew I was going to be Flying, now, did I?" Harry slowly got to his feet.

"Yeah, well, neither did I—and this shite over here is getting in the way of Quidditch practice, so hurry it the fuck up, yeah?"

The Quidditch pitch was a about a good fifteen minutes-walk away and Flint had rather long legs, leaving Harry to jog-walk after him. There was a cool wind blowing, as well, quite heavy and at times Harry had to power through so as not to get blown away.

The Quidditch pitch was lighted up by a few light posts but it was still rather dark forcing Harry to squint. He made out a group of people on the other side of the pitch, holding up what he thought were sticks, and even from here, he could hear them laughing and shoving each other in jest.

As he got closer, he made out Lucian and Pergerine as well as three other boys and the two seemed to recognize him, as well, stilling and baring their bats at him and Harry gulped, wondering just what he'd stepped into.

"Alright, boys—Potter here managed to miss his Flying lesson today, so Snape's forcing me to take over—"

Snorts sounded and Harry scowled at their mocking faces and sneers.

"Practice goes on as normal—this Potter thing shouldn't take too long. Get in formation—we have Gryffindor in just about two months, and I'm not losing to those twerps this year; got that?!" He looked right fierce, spite flying from his mouth.

Everyone nodded, even Harry—though he wasn't on the Team at all—and the rest of them trudged off to the other side of the pitch, and began tossing a red football-sized ball around, and as Harry watched one of them heaved the ball past a bloke and into one of the hoops.

Flint gave a grunt of approval and turned to face Harry. "Now, you—stay right there."

He turned around and walked out of the Pitch, and Harry grew antsy waiting on him, watching the Slytherin Quidditch team train, especially when he saw the round, jet black ball that Lucian and Tergerine were whacking about to deter the others with the football-like-ball from scoring. Harry noted that the bloke tasked with standing in front of the hoops and keeping the balls out was rather lousy, making every shot they took look like a belter.

Soon enough, Flint was back, holding two brooms. One of them was rather nicely polished and smooth, but the other had twigs sticking out of it, glinting scarlet and looked rough. Flint handed him the latter and he took it with a small frown.

Flint sneered at him, mounting his broom and easily kicking off the ground, coming to float a few feet above him. "Be happy—that's still a Comet 260, it's probably the best school broom out there; I could've given you one of our notorious Shooting Stars…" he finished with a nasty grin.

Harry flashed a quick smile, wondering what he was supposed to do now. He glanced up at Flint, floating above him with sickest of ease, giving him a flat, unimpressed look.

He gulped. After all, all his life, his feet had remained very firmly on the ground and now, he was being told—

"Come on, Potter—I don't have all night! Just mount the bloody broom already!"

It wasn't that bad.

Okay, he held onto the broom incredibly tightly—he could feel his palm blistering—and he was very tense as he slowly and slowly, got further away from the ground, his butt growing stiff.

Flint had him complete a small, slow lap, covering about half the pitch. He looked faintly impressed when Harry returned, limbs intact and a small smile on his face as he dismounted.

This wasn't all that bad, actually. He liked that feeling in his stomach when he was in the air, and the way the wind blew over his face… It was very nice.

"Not bad, Potter—well, last thing before I release you: just a lap around the pitch. Then you can right clear off!"

Harry snorted at that. That was more the Flint he'd come to know. The boy didn't even wait for Harry to mount his broom, he just took off back to the Quidditch Team, calling a huddle. There was nodding and a bit of snickering and Harry narrowed his eyes, wondering what that was all about as he mounted his broom.

As he approached the hoops, Harry noticed that the Quidditch team had stopped their practicing and his insides went cold and he became very aware of their eyes baring into him.

Flint's smile was wide and baring and the moment Harry began turning there was the sound of a proper whack and then this whizzing sound through the skies promising Harry bodily harm.

He gasped, his fingers shaking and he even lost control of the broom, his arms up in protest as the broom began bucking and shuddering. The ball collided against his broom, spinning him around very fast and he could make out shrill, booming laughter now.

Another of those balls came whizzing his way and Harry, by pure instinct, grabbed onto his broom and jerked it out of the way. He pulled upwards—and just in time, because a second later one of those balls shredded through the place he'd been a second before.

He had a second or two to breathe to realize that they were actually actively trying to hit him… They were going to… Right here, at Hogwarts, it was going to be over…

Another ball came his way and he circled around the ball, feeling his breaths coming out in short spurts. And then his jaw tightened and he swallowed down his fear.

Fuck these plebs!

He steered the broom down the field.

If they wanted him, they were going to have to catch him.

There were more balls out now. Six, instead of the two in the beginning—and everyone had those bats in their hands, grinning as they closed in on Harry.

He didn't think—he didn't have the time to, and his stomach was churning and bubbling too much—he just weaved out of the way.

A duck there, side-step, dodge.

He lost all semblance of his time and his hands were growing numb from all the sharp turns and jerks that he was being forced to make but as yet another of the jet-black balls spiraled his way, Harry was forced to jerk his broom backwards, flying in a backwards arc to evade them.

He gave a gasp of surprise and his eyes watered slightly as one of the balls clipped him in the back. A huge breath escaped him and he needed a second to gather his bearings.

They managed to clip his broom once again, spinning him in a circle, and Harry desperately thrust forward, trying to egg his broom forward but it didn't want to obey him.

It shot forward at last, just in time as a ball whistled past his ear, skinning him with the deadliest of intentions and Harry gasped, wincing at the sudden, brief pain, impatiently sliding his hair from his forehead where it had stuck thanks to the sweat that had built up.

Harry jerked his broom and retreated when he realized there were three of them ahead of him.

One by one, the Slytherins made a circle around him that drew Harry up. He managed to duck the first ball, and spin around the first—

But when Flint grabbed a hold of his broom, flashing Harry his teeth, one final, echoing whack sounded and Harry whirled about, wide-eyed, watching helplessly as the ball rushed his way, unable to do anything.

He yelped as the ball connected truly with his ribs and he slumped and tumbled off his broom, and his stomach shook as he free-fell through the sky, screaming.

He was quite unprepared for the floor in all its hardness and wet grass, and before Harry knew it, he'd landed in a pained, tangled heap. Every breath caused him a sharp, stinging pain but he heard another one of those whacks sounded and he gritted his teeth, feeling full on proper tears develop as he tried to push himself to his feet.

A sob caught in his throat as his legs remained motionless. He watched in horror as he tried again with the same results, finally stopping the experiments as his back exploded in a flame of pain.

A dull thud sounded as something heavy hit the ground and Harry gave a soft groan as everything went dark for him.


	13. Peace Treaties

Harry woke up slowly, groggily wriggling about.

He yawned, and brought a hand to wipe his face, sitting up.

A frown covered his face as he became aware of a scream reaching his ears.

"ARGH! Get off, you stupid bird!"

It was Flint, standing over his bed, covering his head and ducking, Hedwig was flying over his head, flapping her black wings angrily, squawking and pecking at him. She had a letter in her feet.

Harry glanced about in confusion, wondering just what was going on.

He was in a bed, covered in soft white bed sheets. He felt energized, refreshed and it was in stark contrast with how he normally began his day, on the cold floor of an abandoned classroom somewhere.

But how had he—

He gasped as it all came rushing back to him.

The Flying lesson—

He turned a furious glare upon Flint, still struggling to ward Hedwig off. "You!"

That seemed to bring Hedwig and Flint to a stop, they both turned to face him warily. Hedwig flew to his bedpost, puffing her chest out proudly and Harry removed the bed sheets off of himself in one fluid go.

"What're you doing here, Flint?! Came to finish the job, huh?!" Flint winced and Harry sneered at him. "Or perhaps you came to gloat—"

Flint was shaking his head very quickly. "No—no, no… nuffin' like that, I swear—"

"SCREW YOU!"

Flint's eyes scurried over to a small door, not too far away from the beds scattered around the room.

He scuttled over, wearing an apologetic face. "Keep your voice down—"

"Why? So you can have another go—" His hand went to his pocket and his eyes went wide as he realized it wasn't quite there. "What the actual—"

"Pomfrey probably has it…" Harry frowned at Flint. "Madam Pomfrey—you know, the matron, she's right handy for all types of injuries—"

"Why does she have my wand?!"

Flint shrugged. "Safe-keeping, I guess—it's not like you've needed it the last couple days."

Harry felt his breath hitch. "Last couple—How long have I been out?"

Flint gulped, shuffling on his feet. "Answer me!"

The boy grimaced, avoiding his eyes and Harry swung his legs over the bed and Flint took a panicked jump back, holding his hands out for Harry to stop. "No! You have to stay in bed—Pomfrey'll murder me!"

Harry sneered. "If this Pomfrey witch was half as competent as you say she is, there's no way she'd have let you anywhere near me when you…"

He saw Flint's expression and came to a slow realization. "You didn't tell her!"

Flint sighed and looked at Harry with steely eyes. "Listen, we fucked up—we didn't mean to actually let things get so far out of hand, just got—"

"You twats legit tried to murder me—"

Flint winced. "It wasn't supposed to go that far—"

Harry gave a shrill laugh. "Fat load of good that does me—" He gasped as he made to stand up out of the bed and an eye-watering pain shot up his leg and he crawled back into his bed, furiously slapping Flint's help away.

"Look—I get it: you loathe the sight of me, but you've got to hear me out," Harry sneered and Flint rushed on, "You won't regret it, I swear."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's not like I've got somewhere to be—"

Flint placed a rather large hand on his chest. "Honest to Merlin—it was just meant to be a bit of fun, just clip your broom a bit, get you scared and shite—"

"Oh, ha ha—hilarious!" Harry deadpanned, eyes flinty and arms crossed. Hedwig squawked behind him on the bedpost in agreement and Harry sniffed.

Flint wiped a hand over his face and Harry noticed that his eyes were rather heavy and he could make out eye-bags, as well.

"You're right—we crossed the line—"

"Got that right!"

But—but!—but!" Flint was breathing heavy now, his eyes popping wide, and he looked like he was struggling to hold onto his sanity. "You know what?—I'm not 'bout to sit here and beg for your forgiveness—"

"You wouldn't get it anyways, you fucker!"

Flint scowled at that and now, his hands were clenched. "You got into Slytherin for a reason, Potter—"

"Probably more than you and the lot of Slytherin these days—"

"LISTEN!" he roared, grabbing his hair and tugging. Harry blinked at him in shock.

"Here's the deal: you've caused me a fucking Seeker, Potter—"

"The fuck?!" Harry sat up, spite flying out of his mouth.

"Shut the fuck up and listen, you twit—"

"Oi!" Harry balled his fists.

"Doesn't even fucking matter—bet you're gonna report me the moment you can, that not right?"

Harry lifted his chin. "You don' deserve any less—"

Flint shrugged. "Here's the deal: you've got some real skill, there's no denying that, Potter—you join the Team as Seeker, and you shut the bloody fuck up! Sound good?"

* * *

Harry was finally released Thursday evening—and honestly, he was mighty relieved to see the back of the blindingly white Hospital Wing and the stuffy air in there.

Madam Pomfrey was nice, too nice, really—but Harry found out all too often, she wasn't willing to make any sort of compromises. She was so incredibly strict Harry had given up trying to pull anything over her and just dutifully served his time under her care.

His hand slunk to his pocket and he pulled out a piece of parchment. That had played quite a role, as well, in securing Harry's cooperation with Pomfrey.

_Please be at the One-Eyed Statue on the Third Floor at seven then Thursday evening. We obviously have a fair bit to discuss._

_Remus._

Hedwig had brought in the first letter, but seeing as Harry was stuck in the Hospital Wing, he hadn't been able to show up. It wasn't for lack of trying, mind—Promfrey was just ruthless, is all.

He'd had to send Hedwig back with the news—and then Remus had responded with this update.

His stomach bubbled with the nerves as he trudged up to the Third Floor and he barely noticed the weather change, his breath coming out into a damp cloud.

He ended up scouring the Third floor for a good half hour in search for "the One-Eyed Statue" and as the clock steadily ticked closer to seven, Harry began cursing the man, his shabby clothing, his worn-out face, his scars—

He gasped as his eyes landed on a statue, almost tucked neatly into the wall. There was not a whole lot striking about it and one could very easily pass it without so much as a thought.

In fact, as Harry approached the statue, he became increasingly certain that he had, in fact, passed the statue on a couple of occasions already. It made sense, of course, he'd only been scouring the Floor for—who knew how long!

The statue was rather small, and it had the same dull grey colour the walls had, depicting an old lady with a walking stick with a rather obvious hunchback.

Harry hovered before the statue, wondering just what to do now. He dug into his pocket for his wand, stroking it softly and gave it a short flick and muttered, "Tempus."

He shrugged as 19: 03 briefly flashed before him.

Harry glanced about as time continued to tick, his eyes skittering about. His ears perked at the sounds of groaning, and muttering and he tensed, cocking his head about and trying to project an air of cool as he caught scraping, squeaking sounds.

Sharp, creaking sounds began sounding, grinding against each other and Harry straightened in alarm, his mouth and eyes going wide as a click sounded and the statue snapped back, almost as if on a string, swaying back and forth.

There was a hole now behind the statue and coughing sounded and Harry saw someone in the hole, swatting and swinging before him. The bloke stepped forward and the faint scars on his face and his greying hair had Harry narrowing his eyes.

The man didn't seem to really catch onto Harry's mood, spreading his arms wide and smiling. "Harry! It's nice to see you! Come on, follow me! Up you get!"

Inside the hole was dark, and rather cold. The air was damp, and there was a stale feel about it. It was very narrow but thankfully, he'd never been that wide. Harry was glad in the beginning when Remus whispered, "Lumos" and everything lighted up.

And then he realized there were spider webs everywhere and just too late, as well: his hair got entangled in a particularly long one and he cursed, bringing his hand up to remove the webs.

Remus snorted at his curses of frustration and Harry snarled as he finally freed himself.

"Yes, it's definitely gotten worse since my day…" He turned to face Harry with a smile.

But it died when he saw that Harry wasn't really feeling the cheer. "You must be wondering just where we are…"

Harry shrugged, refusing to give the slightest of inches. "I figured you were going to bring me in the know soon enough—or is even that asking too much?"

Remus's smile faltered and the man glanced ahead and Harry felt a grim sense of pleasure course through him.

It was quiet, for a while—Remus ducking as the tunnel seemed to get lower. Harry was rather grateful that he didn't have to do any of that—he wasn't tall enough for the height of the tunnel to present an issue—especially as the man began panting and breathing heavily.

"This is a secret passageway, by the way…"

"A secret passageway?"

"Uh huh…" Remus huffed. "There are seven passageways—ways to sneak out of Hogwarts—"

"We're not in Hogwarts?" Harry squeaked, his face alighting with delight.

"Nope," came Remus's cheery reply.

"Brilliant! Bet the professors don't even find out anything—I'm getting to know the castle really well, you know—"

Remus snorted. "There's a lot to find in that castle—I know quite a bit, myself—"

"I'll bet! I doubt I'd ever have found this without you!" Harry glanced about, starting to appreciate the tunnel more, even the dank air, the compressed nature of it…

"Oh, somehow, Harry, I doubt that." Remus laughed.

"I dunno—I mean, I've done a fair bit of exploring myself, of course—"

"Obviously!" Remus snorted.

Harry's lips twitched. "Well… well, yes. But this—this is something else—"

"Have you found any shortcuts yet?"

Harry nodded, even though Remus was looking ahead of him, weaving past protruding rocks and carefully manoeuvring about, placing one feet carefully after the other, setting an example for Harry.

"A few. It's handy with getting to class on time—the professors hate it when you come late—"

"Believe me, Harry, I know."

They arrived before long before a stone staircase, and Harry just made out pieces of the staircases missing.

"We're almost there, aren't we?" Harry asked, climbing up the staircase after Remus.

"We are, indeed!"

"Where, exactly—if I may ask?"

The man snorted. "If you may ask… Hogsmeade, Harry, is—"

"The All-Wizard village?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"The very one—it's just outside Hogwarts, you know. You wouldn't know since you came with the boats as a firstie but Hogsmeade is just outside the castle. In fact, third-years and up are allowed to Hogsmeade a couple of times a year."

"So the first-years and second-years aren't allowed shite?"

Remus began coughing, and Harry gave his back a flat look. "The first and second-years are not gifted this particular privilege, no—"

"Well, it's a good thing you showed me this passageway, then, I reckon—"

"Yes…" Harry thought he heard a bit of regret in Remus's voice and he smirked to himself. "Pay attention over here, Harry—see that?" He was pointing at a scarlet and gold Gryffindor scarf hanging from a needle on the wall.

"Yeah, Gryffindor—"

Remus came a stop and Harry collided into him with a yelp. Remus grabbed onto him, steadying him, looking deep into Harry's eyes to make sure he was steady before letting him go.

"Whenever you see that—you're advised to look up immediately. Otherwise, the cellar trap-door is likely to cause you a bit of pain." Remus raised his wand up and brought a small door into light.

Suddenly, the light went out and Harry furiously blinked in the sudden darkness as a creak sounded and suddenly light washed in from above them, from the door.

The trap-door led to a dusty floor, covered in wooden crates and boxes, overflowing with sweets of all forms. As Harry watched, Remus bent down and grabbed a stack of Chocolate frogs and pocketed it with a cheeky grin at Harry.

He frowned, stilling at the tinkling of a bell coming down from the wooden staircase just beside them that Harry assumed would lead one up to the main shop.

"They almost never come down here to check, you know…"

Harry quickly followed Remus's example, and the man laughed.

The main store was rammed to the rafters. They could barely move, and the crowd of visitors seemed to be plastered against each other. It was easy to see what all the rush was about, though.

Harry made out shelves upon shelves of the most succulent-looking sweets imaginable.

Creamy chunks of nougat, shimmering pink squares of coconut ice, fat, honey-coloured toffees; hundreds of different kinds of chocolate in neat rows; there was a large barrel of Every Flavour Beans, and another of Fizzing Whizzbees, Remus pointed out the levitating sherbet balls; along yet another wall were 'Special Effects' sweets: Drooble's Best Blowing Gum (which filled a room with bluebell-coloured bubbles that refused to pop for days, Remus explained), the strange, splintery Toothflossing Stringmints, tiny black Pepper Imps ('breathe fire for your friends!'), Ice Mice ('hear your teeth chatter and squeak!'), peppermint creams shaped like toads ('hop realistically in the stomach!') , fragile sugar-spun quills and exploding bonbons.

Harry was both relieved and disappointed to get away from the drove but Remus assured him they could come take a look later, when it was less busy.

The High Street was charming: lined by little thatched cottages and shops like Ollivanders—Harry shuddered at the memory of getting his wand; "It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather—just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother… gave you that scar. Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew."

Harry gave himself a shake and cast his eyes on Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, gagging at the steamy pinky windows and Remus laughed, following his gaze.

Zonko's Joke Shop had Harry's eyes popping so much so that Remus had to physically restrain Harry from going in to take a look, steering him instead towards the Hog's Head Inn. Harry relaxed as he saw the worn-out wooden sign above the severed head of a wild boar leaking blood onto the white cloth around it.

He chuckled as he made past the doors, Remus frowning down at him.

It was small and filthy, there was no use mincing words. One could barely make out the floor, covered in dirt. The whole place smelt like barn animals, and Harry's eyes flitted about, making out the few customers minding their business and liquor, faces covered.

He followed dutifully after Remus towards the ancient wooden till behind the bar that apparently served as the cash register. "Two butterbeers, please!"

The barman was wearing an apron and was looking at them with soul-piercing blue eyes shining behind the dirty lenses of his spectacles, his long stringy grey hair and beard completing the old, grumpy bloke look.

"Four sickles!" the man grunted.

Harry made out a rickety, wooden staircase as Remus fished out four silver coins. He cocked a brow, wondering if the Hog's Head Inn was like the Leaky Cauldron, in that it provided accommodation.

The man dropped two dirty-looking glasses before them, filled with the foamy beverage.

Remus directed Harry to a table in the back, nodding at the few customers in the Inn, and Harry nervously did so, as well. The table was covered in a coat of dirt and the a wisp of dust rose up from his chair as he sank into it.

"It's out-of-the-way…" Remus began, taking his seat and a sip of his butterbeer. The man sighed in pleasure and Harry decided to take a sip, as well, enjoying the butterscotch flavour.

They drank in silence for a while, Harry smacking his lips contently. Blaise was probably struggling with homework at the moment, he figured, and yet here he was, in the only All-Wizarding village in all of Britain, sipping a mug of Butterbeer.

He smiled to himself.

Soon enough, his mug was empty and Remus was staring into Harry with a flat look.

"So, how was Hogwarts been so far?"

Harry sighed.

"Where to start?…"

Remus blinked at him, leaning back into his seat. "The beginning's always a decent place…"

Harry scowled and began his tale.

He told Remus about his Sorting, how practically all of Hogwarts hated him—especially Snape, who seemed to despise the mere thought of him—and the Slytherins, and Weasley's band of baboons, and Flint—

"Merlin above!" Remus straightened in his seat, looking alarmed. "Harry, you have got to report this; that could've—"

Harry was shaking his head. "No, that won't do any good—it'd just piss him off if he had to do a shit-ton of detention."

Remus sighed. "But—it's just—"

"Flint says a place on the Team means the Slytherins won't dare attack me—"

"And you believe him?! Merlin, Harry, this bloke tried to murder you!"

Harry run a hand through his hair. "Not really—but I know a couple of spells so I figure it's at least worth a shot. Winter's coming, after all: it's going to start getting cold so I don't really fancy kipping in abandoned classrooms forever."

Remus was running a hand through his hair, looking distressed and agitated. "This isn't right—you're just a first year—"

Harry scowled. "I've been handling myself my whole life just alright—"

Remus was nodding, his head ducked. "True, true—but that doesn't discount that this isn't fair, a first year shouldn't—"

"Life isn't fair!" Harry shrugged at Remus's disbelieving face. "It isn't—the Slytherins are dickheads to me, the whole school apparently thinks I'm the next Dark Lord and you didn't even think it was important to tell me that you knew my parents."

Remus winced and glanced away from Harry's fierce frown. "I… sorry doesn't cover it, obviously—"

"Just tell me why you wouldn't want to visit the child of your 'best friend'! I just don't get that."

Remus sighed, looking down into the table and rubbing his hair. "I… Dumbledore wanted you to grow up completely isolated from the Wizarding World—"

"Dumbledore?" Remus nodded. "What the fuck does he have to do with my life? I thought he was just the Headmaster?"

Remus's head shot up and he looked stern now. "Language, Harry—and Dumbledore has… is… well, he's the one who placed you with your Aunt…"

Harry felt his heart skip a beat and a roaring wind build up in his ear. "WHAT?!"

The two mugs before them exploded into tiny little pieces, flying about. Remus jumped to his feet, holding his hands out to calm him down, waving the bartender off.

"I'll pay before I leave, I swear it." The bartender grunted and stalked off.

Harry was breathing heavily and Remus returned to his seat with a concerned glance at him. "Are you alright?"

"How does a friggin' Headmaster get to place me where ever the fuck he wants?!"

Remus grimaced at Harry. "He's not just a Headmaster, Harry—you have to understand… the war—"

"Yeah, I know—Boy-Who-Lived and all that tosh…"

Remus looked faintly amused. "Yes… well, before you, well… did him in, everybody thought the war would end thanks to Dumbledore—he'd already defeated Grindewald decades back—"

"Yeah, so he's powerful as fuck, who gives a shite?!"

Remus gave Harry a stunned look. "You must have picked up an impressive amount of detentions at Hogwarts, already, I'm assuming with that tongue."

Harry scowled.

"Moving on… your parents were part of an organization that was dedicated to fighting… You-Know-Who," Remus whispered, glancing about worriedly. "When you know… _you _happened, Dumbledore placed you with your relatives because they were your only relatives—and you were safest there."

Harry scowled, thinking it over.

"Okay then, but why couldn't you or my father's other friends come visit and tell me about the Wizarding World? Black and Pettigrew—what happened to them?"

Remus began to answer and then stopped, sighing. "It's a sad tale, Harry—Dumbledore wanted you to live a care-free life and he had his reasons for not allowing any contact from the Wizarding World—"

"Yeah, well, what are they?"

Remus shrugged. "He didn't share them with me—but," he rushed on, seeing Harry's clenched hands, "I was done listening to him after he refused to let me see you when you turned ten years old. I could understand you being too young, perhaps, at seven, maybe eight and nine—but ten…" Remus sighed. "So I intercepted your Hogwarts letter and brought it to you, myself—I had to see you, I just had to…"

Harry looked at him for a good while, and then nodded.

They sat like that in silence for a good while, each preoccupied with their own thoughts.

"Well, then, want to hear some good tales about my time at Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded with a small smile.

* * *

**I've gotten a lot of conflicting reviews regarding Harry and his behaviour, and quite honestly, I am quite pleased, as that was my goal. The Harry Potter I aspired to create is supposed to be polarizing, so it's very gratifying to see that I've succeeded in that regard.**

**I believe one reviewer commented that the pace was much slower, well to that, I will respond by informing you readers that the pace should pick up tremendously after this chapter, so fair warning, strap on a seat belt.**

**Anyhow, happy reading, drop a wild comment, and see you next time, peace**


	14. The Surprise in the Surprise

Breakfast Friday morning was all kinds of different.

It had rained for the first time in months the night before, and it was still raining in the morning, so people trudged into the Great Hall drenched wet, and dripping mud and water to the floor. Filch hovered beside the ajar door, glaring at everybody as they entered the Hall, his cat flinty-eyed and growling in his arms.

Harry, seated at the edge of the Slytherin table, was juggling fending off Blaise's trying questions, breakfast and putting together something that qualified as a Potions essay.

Snape come rumbling down the Hall soon enough, and his eyes narrowed as he saw Harry, heading his way. "Mr. Potter—I hope you're not only just seeing fit to complete my Potions essay?"

Harry neatly folded up his parchments and carted them off the table, hiding them behind his back. "I've been swarmed, sir—"

"That'll be another three detentions, Potter—ah," Harry had opened his mouth to say something but had wisely bit his tongue, "Learning to hold that tongue, are you? Too late this time, I'm afraid—you'll be serving those three detentions with Mr. Quirrell."

Harry huffed as Snape walked down to the High Table. He scowled and balled up his parchment angrily, pocketing it furiously.

"Going for five detentions, are we?" Blaise's voice was mocking.

"Go fuck yourself!"

Blaise laughed.

Just then, the squawking, hooting sound of owls and the flapping of their wings sounded and Harry went still, rigid, his heart rate suddenly taking off.

He narrowed his eyes, gripping the bench tightly in anticipation.

"You alright, mate?" Harry impatiently waved Blaise's concern away.

The first batch of owls made quick work of dropping off their letters. And then, the first owl—Draco's eagle owl—dropped off a package of sweets for Malfoy like it did every day. The blonde-haired boy took a look inside and emerged, wearing a look of disappointment.

"Hey…! I said I didn't want Frogs this week! Take this back, Ulysses! Ulysses…?"

Harry snorted as Draco finally noticed his eagle-owl had already taken off, jumping into an impressive take-off, spreading it's wings. He brought his hand to cover his mouth as before his eyes, rather high in the air, the eagle opened it's claws and lodged in there was one rather fat egg and pulled back.

The egg connected very well with Flint's forehead, the yoke and the liquid splattering, spreading all over his face, dripping into his eyes. Silence reigned for a good few seconds, and Harry shook with the giggles as Flint brought his hand to wipe his face clean, his face a confused, disbelieving frown, his mouth hanging open.

Flint had barely began got rid of all the egg residue on him before yet another egg came spiraling his way from the talons of another owl in the air, flapping her wings angrily and squawking indignantly as it kept itself afloat.

All around the Slytherin table, conversation came to a halt and every eye was on Flint, frowning in wonder and confusion.

And then all hell broke loose.

An owl suddenly had a beaker in it's talons, and Flint looked up in just in time to get a bucket full of orange juice pour over him. He came out a sputtering, coughing, gasping mess.

And now, all the owls in the Great Hall were circling the Slytherin table, clutching some sort of food in their talons. The Slytherins pushed to their feet in alarm, slowly backing away from the table, holding their arms out in surrender and in some cases, tightly gripping their wands to ward off the owls.

But they needn't have worried—the birds seemed especially focused on Flint.

Next they hurled jam at him, a bowl of flour, peeled bananas, more pumpkin juice—

Soon enough, Flint was cowering on the floor in a ball, hands over his body to protect himself as the owls squawked and hurled more items at him.

The rest of the school had finally caught on to what was going on: the Gryffindors, the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs were laughing themselves hoarse, pointing at Flint as the owls got even more vicious in their attack.

As one one particularly frail-looking owl dislodged hot tea over Flint, the Weasley twins collapsed to the ground, holding onto each other for support, shaking with the giggles as they gasped out, "Errol! What a legend!"

"EVERYONE!" came a rumbling voice that had Harry jumping, eyes wide, clearing his wide, amused grin. "SETTLE DOWN! SETTLE DOWN!"

"YOU HEARD THE HEADMASTER! EVERYONE OUT!" Snape roared, looking furious, his face pasty and a foul type of yellow that only he could achieve.

The students took their sweet time following his order, still pointing and giggling. The Gryffindors needed to be practically steered out of the Hall by their prefects, and the Weasley twins nearly got into a scuffle with some of the Slytherins who had managed to convince themselves that they were responsible for this prank.

Harry smirked at his last sight of Flint: a quivering, sniffling mess, all types of foods covering his body. He could clearly make out bananas, grapes, his hair was damp with all types of juices, the yoke of eggs was very prominent on his skin—he almost looked yellow—except there was a large coat of flour enveloping him.

Classes ended up being canceled for the day.

Harry was feeling very chuffed with himself. Even sweeter, the Weasley twins were being blamed for the prank—though they vehemently insisted they had nothing to do with it—and Gryffindor found itself without any points for the second time in two weeks.

The Weasley twins had looked right furious at dinner, matching the glares that their fellow Gryffindors gave them with equal fire.

Blaise observed them with a frown as he absently cut up his roasted chicken. "They look properly narked, don't they?"

Harry shrugged, pouring himself some pumpkin juice. "Suppose it's not what they were going for—you know, losing all their House points."

Blaise snorted.

He didn't know why but dinner that night tasted extra scrummy—perhaps because he'd gotten one over Flint, maybe because he hadn't been caught, maybe because Snape had assigned him detention again (with Quirrell) so he'd probably be learning some new spells later that night, maybe—

"Is that Flint?"

Harry glanced up, going into a coughing mess as his eyes landed on the burly figure that was Flint.

The Hall seemed to quieten as Flint trudged in. Harry noticed he looked a bit pale, and his gait was a bit slower than normal. Of course, that could've been his eyes being funny, but he could've sworn on it.

"You think he doesn't know it was the Weasley's?" Blaise asked quietly.

Flint totally ignored the Weasley twins, sparking furious whispering. His eyes connected with Harry, and the boy gulped, noting how narrowed they were, the crinkles around his eyes, the way his nose was closing and opening, the clenched hands.

"Something the matter, Flint?" Harry squeaked out when Flint approached him. His eyes widened in alarm and he hurriedly cleared his throat and put on a small smile. "We don't have enough room for you, I reckon…"

Flint chuckled. "Think you're funny, don't you, Potter?—It's alright, I'm willing to let this one slide. We're even now, just get that, you hear—Do you hear me, Potter?"

Harry gulped and fussed with the hem of his robe, his eyes lowered at Flint's furious expression. He nodded. "Good. Our deal still stands. Let me know when you've ordered yourself a decent broom. Good evening then," he spat out and stalked off.

Harry stared straight ahead, focusing on nothing in particular. He could make out the Slytherins around him—Blaise, in particular—frowning at him, brimming, twitching with excitement, nervous energy, the question almost on their tongues.

But it never came.

Dinner passed in a quiet hush like it almost always did at the Slytherin table. Heads came together and quietly exchanged news, nods were exchanged, there wasn't laughter—there were smirks, snorts, sneers—and eyes nervously observed Flint, trying to pretend that they didn't pick up on the bubbling energy around him or that his face almost looked like stone and that he snapped at everyone around him.

Harry jumped to his feet when Quirrell walked off the High Table and stopped before the Slytherin table.

"Ready, sir—for detention," he rushed on, rubbing his clammy hands across his robes. He couldn't help but glance back at Flint, and the boy sneered at him, raising a goblet and nodding.

He snapped his neck back to Quirell, only to see the Professor regarding him with an amused smile.

"If you'd follow me, Potter…"

* * *

"I still can't believe you didn't tell me—" Blaise began, stiff and rigid in his frustration, his hands swaying about in the sofa.

"Oh, Salazar's slimy snake—stuff it, would you?!" Nott growled on the other side of Blaise, his head snapping up, giving way to his narrowed eyes and squeezed expression, lips pressed rather tight in a proper severe expression.

"Hear, hear!" Harry muttered quietly and shared a quick grin with Greengrass who'd done the same, seated on the ground before him, crouched around the table.

"No, Zabini here's got a good point, I reckon—"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm sure he does, you reckon everyone criticizing me has a good point—"

Malfoy straightened, looking very animated, his eyes alive and dancing like rushing clouds. "That's because this is a proper embarrassment, we're going to lose every game this year—"

"Alright, enough!" Nott pushed to his feet, his knees going crashing into the table. Someone's ink bottle toppled over and spilled over his parchment and everyone gathered around the table sucked in a huge breath.

Nott made a strangled sound almost like he was being choked. "NOOO!" he cried, aghast.

He rushed to right the ink bottle, hurriedly gathering his parchment and inspecting it, his eyes wide with horror. His eyes went to the top, and scaled all the way back down, and he began a slow, sad shake of his head as he literally trembled where he stood.

"NOOO! NOOO! This isn't possible—this can't be—"

He broke down, collapsing back into the sofa, huffing and sniffing and Harry grimaced, sharing a glance with Blaise, who looked properly apologetic for his limited role in the whole lark.

Everyone knew Nott was the studious type—figured he'd take something like this hard on the jaw.

"Snape's going to murder me—no, scratch that, he'll cut me limb for limb and store me in one of those jaws he's got in his classroom or maybe…" His voice caught in his throat and Harry cringed as he heard a sob sound. "Maybe…" Nott couldn't go on and Harry glanced away, tugging at his robes at the tension.

He made out Pergerine and Lucian among the Quidditch players laughing their heads off at one or the other around the only sofa seated in front of the fireplace, basking in the warmth.

He glared in jealousy at the Quidditch team bumping into one another, unable to shake off that wriggling worm in his stomach bugging at him, especially as yet another shiver went through him—

"Cold, Potter?"

Harry gasped, glancing up and then whirling about to look behind him.

It was Flint, arms crossed across his chest, and his face hard and unmoving, behind their sofa. "A word…!"

Harry forced a smile, bending down to gather his parchment. Greengrass lent him a hand, and he gave her a grateful smile that she barely acknowledged, frowning at Nott in concern. Harry dropped off his parchment and scurried after Flint, who led him to the cupboards, a good distance away.

He glared at any eye that lingered for even half a second too long and Harry snickered at the second and third years that saw fit to express their loathing of him and ended up on the receiving end of one of Flint's flinty glares.

"You're a real bastard, you know," Flint began.

Harry huffed. "What's this now? You tried to murder me with your "flying lesson" stunt, let me remind you—"

"Oh, what? I'm going to be hanged for a dragon as an egg when we both know you played that prank on me—"

Harry pushed to his full height. "There's no proof—" He faltered at Flint's flat expression, glancing away from the burly Chaser.

He noticed how a whole lot of eyes were fixed on them, even the Quidditch Team, small, narrowed eyes blatantly ogling them as they chatted and he gulped, turning back to Flint, sighing.

"So, what? You came to let me know that you're about to run off to Snape—good manners, pureblood training or whatever tosh wouldn't let you off—"

"You need to go fuck yourself and have someone suck it out your arsehole, Potter!" Flint cut him off furiously.

Harry felt his body buckle and his eyes widen at the language and most importantly, the image it painted.

"When's your broom arriving?"

Harry opened his mouth… and then closed it, gulping.

Flint frowned, closing the distance between them, baring down at him, Harry's face almost plastered into his stomach and with every breath he gagged at the pungent smell of re-heated fish coming off Flint in waves.

"You've got to be shitting me—you haven't even bought a—Potter, we have a match—" Flint suddenly growled, and Harry took a step back, his hand slipping into his pocket as his back connected against the cupboard.

He felt his wand and straightened against Flint, his jaw forming into a determined, stiff scowl.

Flint run a hand across his face, looking wild and almost unhinged. "You do realize that we have a game against Gryffindor in just six—scratch that—five weeks now—"

"I—" He hadn't know that, actually.

Flint pulled out his fat index finger and Harry instinctively pulled out his wand and Flint huffed, taking a step back, his frown tight-lipped and his cheeks properly tight as he expertly wore the mutinous look.

"Have I not held up my end? You're in the Dungeons—nobody's touched you, have they?"

Harry shuffled on his feet, not responding. "If you fuck this up, Potter—if you're trying to sabotage me, I swear—" His eyes promised the greatest of harm, his body tight like a snake about to strike.

"It's not like I've had too much too time, I've been stuck in detention almost every night with Quirrell thanks to you, by the way—"

"Oh, belt up, Potter—you just need to send a bleeding owl for a fucking broom, we both know that—"

"No, we don't—"

"You want me to do it for you?!" Flint began pacing before him and Harry's eyes followed him worriedly. "Shite—I could get my parents to shell out the money for a Nimbus 2000, especially when they hear…" He stopped, a sudden devious light coming to his eyes, shining there.

"Yes, leave it to me, Potter—"

"Yeah, right—I'm not daft enough to leave this broom buying business to you—"

"I wouldn't mess with Quidditch, Potter!" Flint snapped, heaving a huge sigh and Harry blinked in shock. "I loathe the sight of you, I won't lie, but you're also my best chance at beating them stinking Lions, so what good does it do me buying you a faulty broom and you falling off when we lose the game because we don't have a fucking Seeker, huh?"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably.

Flint sneered. "Whatever. Don't trust me, I don't even fucking care—just win me games, or I swear your lil' introduction to Slytherin…" Flint snorted. "It'll be just that: an introduction."

Harry was slow to get back.

He allowed the blatant staring to go on, allowing his thoughts to drift off, assess the new variables. He was going to need to send an Owl to Moony soon. He chuckled to himself, thinking back on all the spells he'd learnt over the course of the past week. Quirrell was working him especially hard, though the results were rather worth it.

Malfoy leaned over Theodore the moment took his seat back. "Did Flint come back to his senses and kick you off the Team?" he asked.

The glare that Nott shot him quailed Malfoy, the blonde-haired posh boy stilled, gulped, and eyes wide, quietly nudged his buttocks forward and leaned forward, focusing on his essay.

"Nope; says I'm going to be starting against Gryffindor."

"I swear Potter, I will murder you where you sit!" It was Harry's turn to get glared at—by Greengrass this time and she looked especially twisted and wrong, with her nose scrunched up and her fists balled up, and a snap sounded as the quill in her hands gave way.

Harry tried—he kept it up for a good few seconds, as well but before long, a snigger escaped him, and then another and one more, and then he was having a hearty chortle at Greengrass.

She looked at him flatly throughout it all and he knew he should probably put a sock in it, Tracey was trying to give him an imploring glare and even Malfoy looked a bit uncertain, smiling and looking concerned at the same time.

Greengrass's flat look suddenly turned simpering and Harry's laugh slowly died out as he saw that. He turned to Blaise seated beside him, a question on his face but the olive-skinned boy immediately ducked his head, feigning incredible interest in his essay all of a sudden even though Harry could see the boy had tirelessly scribbled out nearly the required amount required from McGonogall.

"Hmm… that doesn't seem right…" Blaise was saying.

Harry gave Blaise an outraged look that the boy flat-out refused to acknowledge.

"So, Potter—you're obviously very good at Transfiguration—"

Malfoy made a small sound but Greengrass shot him such a vicious glare that the boy squeaked and ducked his head, returning to his essay without a word.

Harry frowned, wondering just how the blonde-haired girl managed to inspire such fear and almost immediate obedience from them all… It was properly odd.

"Come on, come on…" Harry remained seated in the couch, frowning and Greengrass was frowning before long, as well. "Potter, I said come here," she repeated, an obvious edge to her voice now, as she patted the patch of throw rug she was seated on.

Everyone was watching him now, even Tracey and Nott and Blaise and Harry sighed, slowly rising to his feet.

"What is it, Greengrass?" he asked with a huff as he sank to the throw rug.

Greengrass elegantly arched a brow at him and Harry groaned, averting his eyes. "Watch your tone, Potter—or would you prefer that I march to Snape's office and inform him that I couldn't complete my Transfiguration essay because Harry bloody Potter felt like making a menace of himself—"

"Harry bloody Potter," Harry mocked, rolling his eyes. "Fine! What'd you want?"

Greengrass huffed, switching to a kneeling stance, hovering above him. "You're going to help me with this Transfiguration essay—"

"I can't—I still need to finish Charms, and Herbology—"

"Oh, you bloody well can, or else you can count on yet another detention with Quirrell—"

Harry scowled. "I haven't even started on the Herbology one—" The Charms one, either, but he didn't have any issues with Charms, anyhow.

Greengrass shrugged. "That's your problem! Now, just what in Merlin's name does Emeric Switch mean here…" She flipped open her book on the table. "Here!"

Harry didn't bother looking, sighing. "Listen—I don't know what Emeric Switch said—"

"Hey, Potter!" It was Nott, and he looked right grim and determined. "Figure you could help me out, as well?"

"I…"

"Don't let me go to Snape, Potter—it's not like I need another excuse after my quill and your daft Quidditch talks—"

"That wasn't even me—"

Greengrass pushed to her feet and Harry, alarmed, rushed to pull her back down to the rug, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, fine! Bloody witches!" he muttered under his breath. Greengrass must've caught that, her eyes narrowing but she seemed to let it go, waving a delighted Nott over to tuck in beside Harry who was scowling something fierce.

"You know, Potter—now that I think about it, it's a proper delight to have you in the Dungeons—"

Malfoy snorted and Harry was in agreement, really.

Nott didn't seem to care one bit, or even really register Malfoy. "—with your help—"

"Nott!" Harry snapped. "Can we focus here? The sooner this is done—the sooner I can get to Charms and Herbology, after all."

Greengrass snorted. "Be glad Pansy's in the Hospital Wing then."

Two hours later, Nott was a babbling mess, professing Harry to be a "Transfiguration god", a "lifesaver", "Merlin's incarnation", and a whole host of absurd titles.

Malfoy was twitching like mad and it was properly entertaining watching the blonde-haired boy try to act like he was unaffected by Nott's words; Blaise was openly observing Malfoy with an amused grin. Greengrass had left to bed with a disgusted glance at Nott, dragging a reluctant Tracey along with her.

"He's not that special, you know!" Malfoy snapped the minute the girls had left and the titter that Blaise had been doing so well holding in escaped him and Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Blaise, who looked back at him rather calmly.

"I'd watch myself if I were you, Zabini—"

"I already do, Draco, thanks for the advice, allow me to extend you the same…"

They had a short, rather intense staring contest and eventually, Blaise glanced away with a cheeky grin, going back to his essay, crossing his t's and dotting his I's.

"So, Potter…" Nott faltered, his mouth open and then slowly closing.

Harry sighed and turned to face him with a frown. "Yes?!"

"If you need help with Herbology… I could—"

"Wait, you're good at Herbology?!" he asked with a frown, quite clearly remembering the weedy boy furiously backing away from the thorns and needles of the Spiky Bushes in the test they'd had just two days ago.

Nott was a furious red mess, avoiding his gaze. "Not particularly—but one doesn't have to be all that good at Herbology for the essay, you can find all the answers in _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, see..." Nott lifted up the book in question.

Harry raised a brow, his quill lowering to the table. "And you'd just—just like that? Without anything—"

Nott shrugged, wearing a small smile. "It's not like you didn't help me with Transfiguration, I was really struggling there."

Harry snorted. "You're decent, you just put too much pressure on yourself, Nott—"

"Theodore!"

Harry blinked, frowning. "What?"

Nott straightened, handing Harry a hand. "My name's Theodore. Theo for short…"

Malfoy summed it up rather nicely: "Everyone's gone mad!"

* * *

**A huge word of thanks to all that have deigned to drop a comment, it means a whole lot to me! I've had this story swirling about in my head for ages and it fills me with joy to know that so many people around the world are getting a kick out of reading it!**


	15. The Art of Busybodying

Harry stilled, extending his head in the darkness. He thought he'd heard something but he couldn't be certain.

Especially at Hogwarts, it could be basically anything.

Just last week, he'd been exploring again and Peeves had felt the need to cause a commotion with one of the suits of armor, prompting Filch to come poking around. He'd narrowly managed to get away, employing a corridor shortcut that he'd discovered tucked inside of a wall, almost layered behind it.

He pulled his head back with a frown, taking off again with suspicious glances cast over his head as he headed towards the Third floor. He was supposed to meet Remus there.

The wind was chilly that night, with a strong breeze whooshing as it went past. Harry cast nervous glances about, staying close to the walls so that he'd have something to hold onto should the wind try to blow him away.

There was nobody at the One-Eyed Witch when Harry got there, even though he'd intentionally arrived about five minutes later than their scheduled meeting: 10.30.

He rubbed his arms as a particularly agitated wind blew past, staying for almost a minute, his eyes darting about nervously.

He didn't need any more detentions. True, he was learning a shite ton of properly useful spells from Quirrell but he needed a couple of days to himself, really. He didn't feel like duelling some Professor every evening, after all.

"Where the bloody fuck are you, Moony?" Harry muttered as his teeth began chattering.

A gasp sounded and he heard a thud like a person stumbling to the ground and he stiffened, the hair on his skin prickling for a totally different reason.

He made forward, long strides after the after, and turned the corner and literally jumped back at his discovery.

"What're you doing here?" Harry asked, a bubbling feeling growing in his stomach.

Blaise was scowling, dusting himself off. "I could ask you the same—curfew was half an hour ago, you know—"

"Following me now, are we?"

Blaise shrugged, not bothering to deny it. "Just curious where you get up to when you sneak out. Kind of hard not to notice, it's almost every night—"

"You need to leave!" Harry glanced behind him, straining his ears to hear if Remus had arrived. Asking Remus to sneak into Hogwarts without a sound was thankfully asking a bit too much.

Blaise took a step forward, his face very fresh and alive even at this late hour, almost jumping with excitement. "Why? Is it—are you doing—"

"Blaise—leave!"

Blaise shook his head firmly. "Just tell me—I won't rat you out or anything if it's dodgy—"

"Blaise!"

"I could show you the Kitchens if you wanted! In exchange, I dunno…"

That gave Harry pause. Blaise was smiling at him, eagerly nodding his head. "I know where they are—I followed the Weasley Twins from a distance—woah!"

Harry had pulled out his wand and was now brandishing at Blaise, and the boy held his arms out to stop Harry, slowly backing away.

"Alright, alright, I'll leave!"

"Morsus!"

Blaise jumped out of the white flash of light that erupted out of Harry's wand, wide-eyed and narrowly dodged the second one, as well. "Alright; ALRIGHT!"

Harry felt his insides go cold at his loud voice, his wand arm lowering as he nervously backed away. "What the—are you trying—Filch…"

Blaise spun around in alarm, apparently convinced Filch was behind him, and gasped in relief when he found no one. "Look, I'm going, alright—just know this isn't over!"

Harry tailed him leaving with his eyes, and even after he'd left, his eyes bore into the spot he'd been standing, his words ringing in his head.

A crash sounded and he shook himself to life, dashing past the corridor to see Remus stumble out of the passageway, and peering into the darkness deeply, absently dusting himself off.

Harry stepped forward into the light and Remus brightened at seeing him. "Harry!… What's wrong?"

Harry shrugged, allowing Remus to embrace him though he didn't return it.

"Blaise—followed me, apparently. I think we need to go, Filch might be coming any moment now…"

"Oh…? Perhaps I should show you some more secret passages—"

Harry nodded, pulling the passage open and clambering into the slide. "That'd be right useful."

* * *

"That's a load of hippogriff dung if you ask me—"

"Don't think McGonagall's all too interested in what you think," Blaise cut in with a cheeky grin that Harry scowled at him for as they burst out of the Transfiguration classroom.

McGonagall had just handed him detention for failing to present his essay at the end of class.

"Quite honestly," Theodore said, jogging to catch up to them, tucking in beside Harry, "I don't understand why you wouldn't just do the essay, you're incredible at Transfiguration—"

"Essays are long and boring—"

"Hear, hear," said Blaise, pulling his face.

"Be that as it may," Theodore said stiffly, and Harry rolled his eyes, sharing a grin with Blaise on his right as they turned the corner.

The Gryffindors were just leaving the Charms classroom and Malfoy and his goons had stopped them outside in the corridor.

Harry sped up his gait to catch what was going on. They were in the middle of these half-circles, one for Slytherin and one for Gryffindor, though he spotted a few Ravenclaws shuffling their feet behind the Gryffindors, glancing at each other in wonder to see if the others knew what this was about.

Blaise nudged Harry in the ribs, pointing at one of the Ravenclaws who was absently twirling his long curly hair, snickering.

Harry asked Greengrass with his eyes what was going on, but she just shrugged and threw her arms up in frustration as the Slytherins ahead of them began laughing, though it was hard to hear anyone above Crabbe and Goyle's guffawing.

Harry frowned and began elbowing his way to the front. Tracey and Bulstrode parted rather easily for him, Pike parted with a sneer, and before long, Harry was standing behind Crabbe and Goyle with a frown, peering over the two to see Weasley and his moronic friends standing before Malfoy and his goons.

"Oh, lookie here—Potter's come to save his mate!" said the sandy-haired boy, Finnigan, wasn't it?

Harry recoiled at that. "I'm not his—"

"I don't need saving, Weasley, thanks—you can ask Longbottom over there." Longbottom flushed, glancing away and the crowd quietened, obviously not aware of what Malfoy was referring to. It was easy to hear Crabbe and Goyle's quiet laughter and it was very out of place in the silence.

"Piss off—" Weasley began.

"Watch your language, Weasley—we're right in front of the Charms classroom and we both know your House really can't afford to lose any points these days…"

Weasley flushed at that and the Slytherins behind Harry tittered quietly at that.

The redheaded boy, somehow appointed leader, turned and nodded to his friends and slowly, the Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws dispersed.

Malfoy was right pleased with himself, turning to face the Slytherins with a bright smile.

Harry rolled his eyes, and bodied past Malfoy as the bell sounded for the beginning of Charms class.

* * *

"Seeker? No freaking way—he's only a first year—"

"The right size, though, isn't he?"

"Reckon he'll break easily, only twelve, isn't he?"

"Wonder what Flint's playing at?!"

"Potter probably forced him into it, innit? With his Dark hexes and whatnot—"

Harry's broom had arrived a week into October.

And with it, the news that Harry Potter was on the Slytherin Quidditch team was leaked, as well.

It was his first days at Hogwarts all over again, sinister hisses and murmurs flying after him, people scowled and sneered at the sight of him, and even in Slytherin, led by a rejuvenated Malfoy—who'd somehow shot to the top of the academic standings, narrowly winning out over Granger in second place—people cast doubt on the wisdom of making him Seeker.

So far, Harry would just chuckle and give a cheeky response whenever Malfoy broached the topic.

"Dunno, Malfoy—Flint's Captain, must've seen something in me that you obviously don't have."

Dealing with Malfoy wasn't all too much of a hassle. The blonde-haired boy had even tried setting his two goons on Harry but his sharp wand work had landed the two thick boulders a stint in the Hospital Wing.

Malfoy hadn't tried anything outwardly dodgy since. Course, it might've had a fair bit to do with Flint's "chat" with Malfoy beside the cupboard, just like he'd done with Harry. The needling didn't stop—he hadn't expected it to—but he hadn't had any physical confrontations since whatsoever.

So, Friday morning, Harry woke up, weirdly bright-eyed and twitching with excitement.

He barely heard any of Malfoy's badmouthing, twirling across the dormitory as he prepared for breakfast.

"Did Quirrell drug you last night or something?" Theodore asked as he observed Harry with a frown as they stepped out of the Slytherin Dungeons.

Harry chuckled. "Nope—didn't even have detention last night."

Blaise snorted, a dark frown on his face. "Just fancied an especially late night stroll, ain't that right, Harry?"

He didn't respond, eerily conscious of Theodore's frown drilling into his back.

They didn't speak again as they tucked into the end of the bench as always in the Great Hall, a thick cloud building over them.

Harry kept his head low, moving away from what was becoming a tradition of picking out oddities at the Gryffindor table and mocking them with Blaise.

He just picked out a bowl, and began fetching himself some porridge.

Hedwig didn't show, and he wasn't expecting her to. He hadn't Owled Moony in a good week—and it wasn't like he needed to. It was all pretty much bloody excellent lately.

"Oi, Potter!" Flint hollered, waving him over from further down the bench. He was in the middle of the bench, where all the Quidditch players sat and grunted to each other, laughing here and there. Malfoy was just a few seats away, a far cry from Harry who was almost hanging off the bench.

Blaise sneered and glanced back into his cereal, and Theodore glanced up from his book, _A History of Magic_, looking a bit lost.

Harry shrugged, and slowly pushed up from his seat.

Flint's smile was oddly inviting, blindingly wide and he almost missed Malfoy glaring daggers at him as he approached. Flint made the bench budge a seat down, making room for him and he easily slid in.

The Captain of the Quidditch team immediately went ahead, shoveling pancake after pancake onto his plate drenched in lemon and pumpkin juice—Filch assured him it was a delicious mix, Harry remained guarded and uncertain—sausages on the side and three full glasses of milk.

Harry glanced up from his new plate, cocking a brow at Flint's unmoving face. "Eat up!"

Harry sighed, slow to pick up his fork, and begin on his pancakes.

Flint snorted, nodding in approval as he opened his mouth and got started on his newly assembled breakfast.

"Better—I'm in charge of your diet from now on, Potter, you hear me?" Flint leaned in and hissed to him, his eyes still expertly peeled on the Slytherins trying to look like they weren't watching them unabashedly. "You have no idea just how much flak I've been eating 'cause of you the last week—I'm not 'bout to let it go to waste!"

Harry didn't respond, his mouth full with admittedly rather delicious pancakes. He didn't know how, and he wasn't fancying the thought of figuring it out, but somehow the lemon juice and the pumpkin juice softened the pancakes giving the cut strawberries more focus and the sprinkled sugar…

He finished his plate soon enough, bringing an end to the sausage's existence and downed his last glass of milk with a quiet, content sigh.

Flint gave him an approving nod, and the Quidditch Team looked at him with raised brows. He even saw Lucian looking faintly impressed, his bottom lip pushed out slightly.

He grinned and rose to his feet, giving Flint a mocking salute in farewell as he went back to the Dungeons to collect his Potions book—he was trying to stay out of detention for an extended period after finally having served all of his detentions.

He gave Malfoy a cheeky wink and he got a scowl in return, Crabbe and Goyle were a tad too occupied with their breakfast, their stack of pancakes almost reaching their head, Pansy inspected him from head to toe and sniffed, apparently unimpressed.

Blaise was oddly cold when he passed and his thoughts were held up by that as he went down into the dungeons, frowning.

Getting his books was very easy, thankfully. He just had to endure the glances and the mutterings, but he was already kind of used to that.

He burst out of the "Slytherin Dungeons" clutching his rucksack protectively—after all, just last week, some random bloke use some sort of splitting Hex to split it open at the seams.

Some chap was heading his way, probably to the Slytherin Dungeons, accompanied by two girls, and one of them was Gemma Farley. She darkened at the sight of him, and Harry spared her a nod, ducking under the trio in a rush.

The boy clasped onto his hand, drawing him up and Harry gasped, turning into him, looking up at him. He was taller than Harry, way taller, towering over him, and his face was well-rounded, and he had a strong jaw.

"Go on without me—I'll be right there." The boy nodded at the girls, who nodded back, backpedaling. Farley let Harry go with a suspicious glare and Harry shrugged back at her just before the stone wall entrance to the Slytherin Dungeons swallowed her whole, along with her friend.

The boy released Harry from his grasp.

"So, I hear you're to be my replacement…"

Harry blinked at that, taking another look at the boy, noting how… lean he was. There seemed to be no excess fat on him. Even his hair was trimmed in a short, neat buzz cut, a bit different from his messy hair.

"Er…"

The boy chuckled. "I'm not angry at you, Potter, don't worry—I willingly gave up my spot on the Team, you know."

Harry felt his eyes bug out at that. "I… But why? I mean, Quidditch…" At least, what he'd heard about it anyway.

The boy smirked, and gave a small shrug. "It's brilliant, I won't lie, but it's not like I had a chance at going pro. And besides, my family…" The smile slid off his face, and he seemed to become serious all of a sudden. "I'm better academically, is all… It's my last year, gotta focus on N.E.'s, and all—they have an actual impact on life after Hogwarts…" He was nodding as if the arguments he was sounding off were proper logic but his face betrayed his uncertainty.

The boy suddenly glanced up into Harry's grimacing face, giving him a tight smile. "Anyhow—just wanted to say good luck tonight. And do your best for Slytherin, I assure you, you won't regret it…"

Harry nodded slowly, trying for a smile, his hand going to his hair. "Uh, yeah… thanks."

But the boy was already gone, whispering the password, "Greatness!" and disappearing behind the stone wall entrance.

Harry whirled about to Potions, wondering if Flint had put the boy up to it. One last task as a member of the Team. He shrugged to himself.

It did seem like something Flint would do.

Harry beamed brightly, his broom clutched tightly as he swaggered out of the Slytherin Dungeons later that night, Flint slapping him on the back and steering him out.

It seemed extra quiet in the Dungeons that night though Harry had felt eyes following him the whole time.

He'd winked at Malfoy on his way out, brandishing his new Nimbus 2000 at him, and his blonde-haired dorm mate had glanced away with a pained frown.

"Nervous, Potter?" Flint asked as they arrived at the Quidditch pitch, watching him closely. The rest of the Team was already here, a ways ahead of them.

The Quidditch pitch was oval in shape, he saw now. It was about the size of a football pitch, except at the ends there were three hoops, different in size, shooting up into the sky instead of the goalposts in football. Hundreds of seats were raised in the stands around the field so that spectators were high enough to see what was going on.

"Should I be?"

Flint chuckled and then stalked off the pitch.

Harry shuffled his feet, very aware of the situation again. Lucian and Pergerine approached him, nudging him, surprisingly playful.

"Guess we get to see if you're worth the hype now, eh, Potter?" Pergerine's teeth glinted menacingly, and his eyes positively glowed.

Harry forced a smile he wasn't feeling, his body tight all of a sudden.

A dark-haired boy smiled at Harry, extending his hand. "I'm Pucey. Adrian Pucey—Chaser."

Harry shook his hand, hoping he didn't mind his clammy palms much though his pulled expression suggested otherwise.

Flint trudged back onto the field, carrying a large wooden crate under his arm with the most disgusting of ease.

He waved at the Team to join him and they huddled in the middle of the pitch in a small circle almost like the center circles in football.

Flint opened the crate, revealing four different sized balls. Harry easily made out the Quaffle, the two Bludgers and his eyes fixed tightly on the Golden Snitch.

The Quaffle looked rather small in Flint's large hand, casually tossing the ball from his left to his right.

"D'you know the rules or—"

"No!" Harry cleared his throat as all eyes focused on him and glanced into Flint's eyes. "No, I know all the rules—three Chasers, one Quaffle, one Keeper who Keeps the Quaffle out of the goal posts, two Beaters, two Bludgers, one Seeker, one Golden Snitch…"

An incredibly lanky lad chuckled at Harry. "A bookworm, Flint?" The derision shone in his question and Harry flushed.

The Team descended into laughter and Flint shrugged, tossing the ball to Pucey who shut up immediately, plucking the ball out of the sky, spinning the ball on his finger like one did in basketball.

"We've all seen him fly—if any of you can honestly tell me you think Terrence would make a better Seeker, let me know." His tone promised a world of hurt to that blighter that actually dared open his mouth and Harry felt oddly ticklish in his stomach, beaming brightly.

Flint bent down before the crate, picking out two clubs and handing them to Lucian and Pergerine, who were wagging their eyes at Harry.

"ALRIGHT, EVERYONE, ON YOUR BROOMS, IN THE SKIES, NOW!"

Everybody mounted their broom and took off, leaving Harry nervously handling his broom, his breath taken by how shiny the mahogany handle was, how neat and absurdly straight the twigs and how _Nimbus Two Thousand_ was written in gleaming gold across the top of the handle.

"Merlin above, Potter—any day now! You've already set us back a shite ton of training sessions…"

Harry hurried to place the broom under him and kicked off, grinning brilliantly as the wind swooshed over him, blowing over him, he even whooped as the broom turned at his slightest touch.

A whizzing sound streaked through the sky and he jerked his broom sharply to a stop in the sky, watching the small, jet black balls more commonly known as Bludgers, pelting straight into the sky.

"ALRIGHT, WE'RE OFF—WE'LL BE USING THIS SIDE OF THE FIELD! LUCIAN, WORK POTTER'S LIMBS OFF, HE NEEDS TO BE READY FOR THOSE WEASLEYS! POTTER, CATCH ME THAT SNITCH, HEAR? PERGERINE, YOU'RE WITH US CHASERS TONIGHT! MILES, GET IN THE GOAL POSTS, WE DON'T HAVE ALL BLOODY EVENING!"

Harry yelped as Lucian cackled and dashed close to one of the Bludgers, giving it a very promising whack, and the ball zipped right at Harry's face. He fumbled for the handle of his broom and steered it away from the Bludger, ducking his head, shivering as Lucian cackled and gave chase after the Bludger and yet another whack sounded.

It was going to be a long evening.

* * *

**And finally we're getting to the meat of the story, I'm beyond excited, I hope you guys are too.**


	16. A Halloween to Forget

"Detention, Potter! Show up at my office immediately after the feast tonight!" McGonogall looked very unimpressed with him showing up a whole half-hour late, her lips in a formidable tight frown. "And ten points from Slytherin—I do not accept tardiness in my lessons!"

The whole class was watching him, Malfoy wagging his brows at him with a smile. Blaise was feigning looking for something in his rucksack and Theodore, seated next to him, gave Harry a small shrug.

He ducked his head and made to the back of the classroom, slipping beside Susan Bones for the second time.

"Where's Abbott?" he asked curiously. They always sat together for Transfiguration.

Susan didn't look at him, her eyes remaining fixed on McGonogall. "Hannah's sick!" she said stiffly, jotting something down on the parchment she had spread out in front of her.

Harry observed her bemusedly, rolling his eyes. "Happy Halloween!" he muttered to himself, slumping back in the chair, willing the clock to tick faster.

His body ached with pains, his ribs protested every time he moved marginally quickly, and a sharp pain pain shot through his thigh every time he pulled at it.

"Are you alright?" Susan asked suddenly.

Harry managed a chuckle. "Nuffin too bad—Qudditch, Flint's working me hard, is all!" he finished with a small smile.

He'd lay his head on the table for a small nap but McGonogall wouldn't stand for that—he was sure of it. And seeing as the Transfiguration Professor had already made sure he'd be returning back to detentions after his almost three week break… well, he wasn't willing to tempt fate.

"That's not fair!" Susan sounded oddly indignant on his behalf, and he was taken aback at that, blinking in shock. "You're only a first year, he shouldn't be pushing you that hard—"

"Miss Bones!" McGonogall looked scandalized, looking down at Susan, slightly slack-jawed, her spectacles almost falling off her nose.

Susan blushed, turning sharply away from Harry.

Theodore rushed up to Harry when the bell went off, and they walked to their next class together, Blaise trailing behind them.

"So, you feel like letting me know why nobody woke me up this morning? Just felt like fucking me over, yeah? That sort of thing?"

Theodore's smile was sheepish as he stuttered for a response and Harry snarled.

Blaise's reaction was a touch different: the olive-skinned boy bumped into Harry as he passed by. "I'm not your bleeding alarm, Potter—maybe rope Flint into buying you one if it's that much of an issue."

Harry was left gaping at Blaise's back, his hands out in wonder. "What's up with him?!"

Theodore shrugged. "He's been like that lately—"

Harry snorted. "No way—I'd have noticed—"

"I doubt it." Harry's frown was fierce and Theodore rushed on. "You're barely around, are you? I mean, outside of class… you have Quidditch practice, and then sometimes, you're just off… I think he's a bit peeved off at you actually."

Harry swallowed, shifting awkwardly at that.

"Hey—cheer up! It's Halloween, I hear the feast's always brilliant, good food can erase almost everything, trust me!"

Harry didn't know about food being able to erase almost everything.

What he did know was he couldn't think about a whole lot that evening, stuffing his face with baked potatoes, roast beef and gravy. Flint nudged some Yorkshire pudding his way and Harry shrugged, digging in with fervor much to his Captain's approval.

Eventually, Flint realized something was off—Harry never ate at the speed he was eating at right now.

"What's going on, Potter?"

Harry winced, going on for a glass of pumpkin juice. "McGonogall—she's got me in detention—"

"On Halloween?" Flint's frown was sympathetic.

"That's harsh, Potter!" That was Pergerine, shoveling crispy roast potatoes into his mouth from the bench across them.

Lucian rose from his mushroom soup to give a dark nod. "Everyone always goes on about Snape being blinkered—but McGonogall lends her Lions a proper hand here and there, I tell ya…"

Flint just nodded, too busy with his Yorkshire pudding.

Harry didn't linger all too longer, just staying on long enough to catch McGonogall's eyes and signal that he was ready for their detention. It took longer than expected but finally, McGonogall called time on her conversation with Dumbledore and he managed to catch her eye.

McGonogall descended the High Table and marched down to the Slytherin table and Harry slowly pushed to his feet but McGonogall waved him down and he glanced at Flint hopefully.

"If you'd just head to my office, Potter… I'll be down in a couple of minutes…!"

"Oh…"

McGonogall spared him a nod and then turned back around to the High Table, leaving a sighing and disappointed Harry behind.

"Tough luck, mate!" Pergerine belched and Farley, seated just a seat or two down, rubbed her nose, face scrunched up as the lads around them burst into laughter.

It built a pang within him to have to leave the Feast early. It got harder with practically every step he took, the thousands of bats fluttering from the walls and ceiling while thousands more swooped over the tables swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkin stutter. He ducked his head and forced his legs to drag him out of the Hall, and then the staircase and then a couple of steps and he was standing before her office, hands stuffed into his pocket with a quiet sigh.

McGonogall's office was only on the first floor so it was still rather easy to hear the chattering and the laughter coming from the Great Hall—the feast—and he had to close his eyes, trying to cloud out the noise.

He couldn't help himself from thinking back to the chess tournament that had been planned for later that night in the Slytherin Dungeons, and the Exploding Snap contest, as well. He'd been undecided on which he'd rather participate in but it didn't matter much in the end if he was stuck in detention, now, did it?

He sighed, slumping against the wall.

His body went rigid as it suddenly went quiet. He couldn't hear anything coming from the Great Hall all of a sudden. His skin prickled and he glanced around, his throat suddenly tight and he drew his wand from his pocket, his knees shaky all of a sudden.

He frowned as suddenly, the noise level took off though it sounded like panicked screaming and then, fireworks and nothing more.

Harry fidgeted on his feet, wondering just what in the blazes was going on, his eyes darting about. He kept his wand aimed, and when a sudden whoosh of the wind sounded, he spun around with a gasp, breathing heavily when it turned out to be nothing.

He gulped.

Harry gasped as his ears stood up.

His arms shook as he whirled around, sure, certain, he'd heard something this time. It was this low grunting and shuffling of feet… gigantic feet. He heard low grunting and the resounding, echoing thud of something illogically large rumbling towards him.

A squeak somehow escaped him and his knees gave out, and his body sank to the ground, watching, slack-jawed as a huge wooden club jutted out of the darkness, and the smell hit him, making his eyes water as he blinked furiously. He'd smelt it before: it was like those public toilets in London that no one ever seemed to clean.

A great lumpy body pushed into the light next, carried by short, thick legs with flat, horny feet, dragging along what qualified as a head but it was larger than the freaking patch of wall that served as the entrance to the Slytherin Dungeons and Harry had to glance up, up, and up just to see it's small, beady eyes.

He gulped and turned around on his stomach, dragging himself away on his elbows.

The troll just grunted and made after him, and Harry glanced over his shoulder just in time to see it lift up it's club from the ground—it had been dragging it along the ground with it's ridiculously long arms—and lift it above it's head.

He hurriedly push to his feet, fumbling for his wand, stuttering for a spell as he backed away.

He whacked himself over the head. "Think, Harry! Think!"

But his mind was suddenly very blank. Yes, he'd been practicing over the past three weeks without detention and he knew spells—

But Merlin above, that shite—that was for humans, wasn't it? Who the actual fuck could've predicted that an actual live fucking troll would be lumbering—

He yelped as the club suddenly cut through the sky in one smooth motion and he jumped back just in time because the ground shook where he'd been standing just before and he stumbled to the ground.

The troll was blinking in confusion, it's small eyes, trying to comprehend how it'd missed Harry.

He didn't give it too much of a time cushion. He pushed to his feet and whirled around, backing away furiously.

The troll lifted the club up once again, waving it over his head and it gave a small roar that echoed loudly, leaving Harry a trembling mess.

His jaw suddenly clenched and he stopped, trying to command his trembling arm to point at the troll, and jerk upwards sharply, crying out shrilly, "_Flipendo!"_

A blue jet of light shot out of his wand and Harry watched, wide-eyed as the troll literally walked into the Knockback Jinx and simply stopped. The troll was frowning, grunting in confusion, his head bending to look at his feet as if he couldn't understand why his feet weren't moving like he wanted.

It didn't remain long.

In fact, as Harry watched, the troll began advancing on him and wide-eyed, Harry waved his wand. "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

It happened again. But it was even shorter. The troll just seemed to stop for a second or five and then move on.

Harry's head began shaking back and forth in disbelief. He backpedaled furiously, but he was too fast, and he tripped, stumbling to the ground on his stomach and his wand jumped out of his hand.

His voice caught in his throat, and a horrible sound caught up with him. He glanced behind him and saw to his horror that the troll was barreling near him now, just a few steps away and he turned back around, his eyes wide in horror and furiously dragged himself to his wand.

His hand clasped around the wand and he whirled around to see the club descend over him and he expertly side-stepped and furiously whipped his wand forward. "_Gelata Digiti!_"

The troll grunted, it's stone face crumbling in confusion as it's fingers shuddered and the club slipped from it's hand, making the ground vibrate at that.

Harry let out a huge sigh and took a couple of steps back to give himself some room.

The troll quickly recovered, giving it's massive head a shake, marching towards Harry without the club and he steeled himself, drinking in a huge breath of air. "_Locomotor Wibbly!_"

An orange beam of light whizzed out of his wand and connected with the troll's legs. The troll stopped in it's track, glancing down at it's feet in confusion and Harry stamped his foot, flicking his wand and roaring once again, "_Locomotor Wibbly!_"

He did it three more times and then, before his eyes, the troll's legs went wobbly, dancing and shaking. The troll's eyes widened and he looked back at Harry again like he hadn't ever seen him before.

Harry sneered and pushed his left leg forward, his body suddenly twitching and vibrating. "_Baubillious!_"

A bright yellow-white bolt of light twitched and shook his wand, roaring out and the troll howled, it's legs finally giving way as his body went into a free fall backwards.

A crack sounded, and he cringed at how sickening it sounded.

He glanced away, but not fast enough, seeing the troll swaying, it's head lolling off it's club, and slump to the ground, arms spread out and there was a small wisp of smoke dancing out of an open wound in the troll's stomach, something blue and lumpy was slowly dripping out of the troll's open mouth, the ground trembling where he stood.

Loud footsteps suddenly sounded and Harry gulped, trying to get his wild heartbeat and his wheezing and gasping under control, rubbing his clammy hands on his trousers. He tucked his wand into his pocket just as Professor McGonogall turned the corner, and the sight before her had her clutching her heart, slumping to the wall with a faint whimper.

Snape came rushing behind her, and slowed at what he saw. He neared the troll, bending down before it, his eyes never leaving Harry. He glanced away, his body quivering like mad and he couldn't seem to do anything about it.

"It's not dead—simply unconscious."

McGonogall was shaking her head, clutched in her hands, twitching with energy, shaking on the spot and Harry glanced to the ground, uncomfortable with the sight of the normally strictly composed professor so… not composed.

"My fault… My fault…" she kept on saying.

Professor Snape cleared his throat, frowning harshly at him. "Return to the Slytherin Dungeons, Potter—and don't even think for one moment of telling a soul of what happened here, if I hear just one student discussing what happened here…" He let the threat hung in the air, and Harry nodded, ducking his head, the intensity in the man's beetle black eyes leaving his skin crawling.

The troll began stirring, giving a low groan and Harry hastily sped up, his bladder suddenly incredibly full.

"Potter!" Flint cried the moment Harry showed up in the Slytherin Dungeons. His Captain came running towards him, grinning largely, holding a plastic plate full with leftovers from the feast.

The boy paused before Harry, frowning down at his clothes. "What the fuck happened to you?!"

His robes were wrinkled everywhere, and were coated in a cloud of dirt from his time with the troll and his elbows were—

Harry shrugged, picking a potato from Flint's plate, walking around him. "Worried about me now, are we, Flint? That's cute."

It was an odd night in the Slytherin Dungeons. It was noisy like it never was, and properly packed, thick groups of people huddling over chess boards and Exploding Snap games, laughter floating about.

Harry decided against competing in any game, lending Blaise five galleons so that he could enter the Exploding Snap competition, watching Blaise play with Theodore. Blaise did well, making the semi's before Malfoy eliminated him and he rushed to Harry's side, assuring him he'd pay him the moment he could but Harry waved him off. After all, the entertainment was quite worth the coin.

November introduced itself with a sheet of snow.

Their windows were covered in mist when they woke up, and Blaise rushed to the windows, looking delighted. "It's snowing!"

Harry grunted and rolled over in his bed, throwing the blanket over his head in the hopes of getting a couple minutes more of sleep. Blaise wasn't having any of that, pulling the blanket off of him and jumping onto his bed, screaming, "It's snowing, it's snowing!" over and over as he bounced on Harry's bed.

He had little choice but to sit up in his bed, but his scowling face made it all too obvious he wasn't pleased being up. He stretched and grabbed for his wand from his nightstand and the sight of his wand caused Blaise to topple over his bed in his haste to escape and crumble to the ground.

Harry chuckled, grabbing a hold of his blanket and throwing it over himself with a smile. "Honestly, you'd think he'd never seen snow in his life…"

Blaise groaned from the ground. "It don't snow too much in Italy…"

"Italy…?"

But Blaise didn't respond, and his bed didn't allow him to think too much on it.

Malfoy dragged Crabbe and Goyle with him to breakfast just as Harry decided to wake up, giving Blaise a foul look as he went. They took their time getting ready for breakfast, even Theodore—who sometimes skipped showering for an extra half-hour of reading.

Harry jumped in shock as he stepped outside the Slytherin Dungeons; his breath came out in a cloud and his fingers were already going stiff!

Blaise jumped with delight beside him as they made towards the Great Hall, excitedly pointing out the lake looking like chilled steel, the mountains giving off an icy grey tinge, the frost and the snow on the ground—

Harry ended up sticking his leg out against Blaise, leaving the boy flat-faced in the snow when he finally tired of him.

Theodore glanced at Blaise struggling in the snow and shrugged, following after Harry, who laughed.

Blaise showed up about ten minutes later, shivering and shaking. Harry waved at him, slicing up the last of his pancakes. He nudged Theodore in the ribs, and nodded at Blaise but Theodore just rolled his eyes and went back to absently stirring his tea, his nose deep in the book.

Blaise was scowling as he slipped in beside Theodore, picking out some bread and spreading some margarine on it. "So, whenever you're feeling that apology…?"

Theodore snorted.

"What? You don't think I deserve an apology?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Nah, mate—what would you have us do for Weasley over there, then?"

The soles on his shoes had dislodged from the rest of the shoe, and the redheaded boy was almost dragging and shuffling his feet as he came in for breakfast with Longbottom en co.

Blaise shook his head with a wry grin, taking a bite out of his bread. "Now, that's just sad."

They had Transfiguration first that day, so Harry didn't stay too long at breakfast.

Class was odd.

Professor McGonogall looked unsettled, restless, her mind somewhere else throughout the whole lesson. She forgot where she was on several occasions and even dismissed them early with a quiet sigh, sinking to the stool behind her desk and laying a hand on her forehead, her head lowered.

"You think she had a bit too much to drink last night?" Theodore asked as he packed up his things.

He wasn't the only one searching for an explanation. The first-years murmured nervously to each other and he easily spotted Susan and Abbott approach McGonogall nervously before another Hufflepuff girl came along and dragged, almost manhandling the two girls out of the classroom.

Even Malfoy looked stunned by the display, inspecting Crabbe and Goyle quietly, almost as if wondering if they could've handled Bones and Abbott with such ease.

"Potter—stay behind, would you?"

Harry stilled at the doorway. Theodore arched a brow at him and he shrugged back honestly.

Theodore nodded, bowing out of the classroom with a small nod. "I'll wait out here."

MacMillan and some other bloke—they were good friends, Harry'd seen them waking about the castle a couple of times—were slow to leave the classroom, giving Harry a contemplating frown as they brushed past him.

Harry nodded as they crossed the doorway and pushed the door into their face as they looked on.

"Yes, Professor?"

He came closer and noticed immediately that her face was more lined than normal and she was almost hunchbacked, leaning over in a manner he'd never seen her do.

She pulled slowly to her feet, adjusting her spectacles so that they sat properly on her nose and sniffled, lifting her head to look at him even though she ended up looking over him.

"I…" She sighed. "I wanted to apologize—personally—for my hand in yesterday's…" She ducked her head, shaking her head, her hands coming out onto the table to support her weight.

Harry blinked at what was transpiring before him in shock and swallowed.

"It was my fault that you had to endure such a… You didn't have to, of course—"

"You couldn't have known, Professor!" Professor McGonogall focused on him, her eyes shining so brightly it was like the spectacles weren't even there and he flushed, glancing to the ground. "I… I asked around and they said someone let it in—it's not like you actually set the troll on me—"

"No!" She sounded horrified, holding her shaking arms out, wide-eyed, her head shaking back and forth. "No, of course not! I… that is… your detention—"

Harry backed away from the Professor as she sighed, falling back into her stool. "I am truly sorry, Harry—truly sorry." She glanced back at him, and offered him a smile that he returned. "I awarded you twenty-five points for dealing with the troll—though I don't encourage such a thing!" She was stern all of a sudden, more like the Professor McGonogall he'd come to know.

He nodded very fast, ducking his head and biting his cheeks at the smile threatening to burst out. "Of course not, Professor!"

She smiled at him, her face brightening and she began fanning herself. "Good Godric—look at me! Well, off you go now, Potter, I have to prepare for my next class!"

Harry didn't need to be told twice, twirling on the spot and making for the classroom, twisting the handle and bursting out.

His eyes immediately found Malfoy hovering behind Blaise and Theodore.

"What's he doing here?" he asked, jutting out a thumb at Malfoy.

The blonde-haired boy scowled, a small blush rising to his neck. "Nott here's my friend, as well, Potter, despite his questionable taste in friends…"

Blaise was grinning widely as he turned around. "You do realize that if you're a friend of Nott and you claim he has questionable friends, you are by extension—"

"So, what'd she want?"

"Theo!" Blaise's whined.

Theodore focused on Harry, looking expectant but he couldn't peel his eyes away from Malfoy sticking out like a sore thumb with his golden blonde hair and almost creamy milk complexion.

Blaise caught on after a good few seconds, whirling to face Malfoy, his arms crossed across his chest.

When Theodore sighed and raised a brow at Malfoy, the boy scoffed looking between the three of them in disbelief.

"What? You can't tell me you want me to leave—"

"Actually," Blaise cut in with a cheeky grin, "that's exactly what we—"

"Blaise!"

Malfoy harrumphed. "Tell 'em, Nott—these commoners have been feeling emboldened for too long—"

"Oi! You watch your mouth, yeah?" Harry took a step forward, filling the gap between Blaise and Theodore as they all stared into Malfoy, who gulped noticeably, glancing to his sides and finding himself alone.

"Yeah, that's right, Malfoy—you're all on your own this time, no Crabbe, no Goyle—"

"And no Daddy to save you!" Harry finished mockingly, cackling.

"Oh ho ho ho! What's this, brother dearie?"

They all stopped, raising their heads to look down the corridor where the voice had come from.

Harry felt his eyes boggle at the sight of the Weasley twins casually walking towards them, smirking.

He smacked his lips together, wondering why he suddenly felt parched. He'd downed two glasses of milk at breakfast, as well.

The other twin brought his head to the side, inspecting them and tapped his lips thoughtfully. "Seems like a couple of Snakes—"

"Is that so?" His brother's smile was equally devious, his eyes glinting with promise.

Harry glanced about nervously, suddenly remembering Flint sprawled across the ground behind the Slytherin table in the Great Hall as owls circled in the sky, hurling food at the Captain, and the empty Gryffindor hourglass—

He tugged at Blaise's robes and nodded in the opposite direction at the boy's frowning face. He fastened his rucksack onto his back and took off at a run.

He heard a laugh come from behind him.

"Now, now, now, Potter—there's no need for that—"

"Yeah, where's the fun in that?"

He yelped as the ground suddenly disappeared beneath him and he brought out his arms to cushion his fall, quickly gathering himself and backing into the wall.

He could see the Twins walking towards him with hard smirks on their faces, one of them with his wand, the wispy remains of the Tripping Jinx he'd just used dancing out of the tip of his wand, and Blaise fisting his wand behind them, looking confused, his mouth hanging open.

Theodore had his arms out, looking totally lost and Malfoy looked panicked, his face almost comical except Harry was pretty sure he didn't look all that different.

"Scared, Potter?"

He groped aimlessly for the wall and pulled himself to his feet, his throat constricting and opening on it's accord.

His eyes skirted about and he made out Theodore running towards them, his arms flailing above his head as he pushed past the Weasley twins to stand before Harry.

Blaise and Malfoy remained a distance away, walking towards them, Malfoy eyeing the Twins warily and Blaise was frowning down at Harry in a way he didn't like at all, tearing his eyes away.

"I am sure this is all just a big misunderstanding—"

"Who the fuck are you?" One twin asked, frowning down at Theodore, waving his wand threateningly.

"I…" And Theodore seemed to be shaking as the situation properly dawned on him, that there was a wand being focused on him. "I am… Er…"

The Twins shared a glance and they both shrugged, the other Twin digging into his pocket and pulling out a wand.

Blaise and Malfoy stopped short right there, glancing at each other and then, they took a simultaneous step backwards. Harry closed his eyes, his chest clenching tightly.

"I bet you thought you could get away, eh—"

"Thought you could fuck with the Weasley Twins and get away with it, ain't that right?"

"Well, you should have asked your buddy, Flint—"

"Don't ever fuck with the Weasley Twins!"

They both raised their wands above their heads and Theodore ducked, bringing his hands to cover his head.

"Conjunctivitis!" A pink streak of light came rushing towards Harry and he pulled his waist away as the spell ran into the wall, leaving a black singe.

Theodore cried out in alarm, dropping to all fours and crawling away to Blaise and Malfoy, who were watching on with their hands across their mouth, wide-eyed.

The Weasley that had missed snarled at him as his chest rose up and down furiously, sweat already building in his armpits and his palms were slowly slipping off the wall, sweat building.

"Give it up, Potter—"

"It'll be easier for you if you can't see—"

He jumped to his left to evade the pink spell again and again but the next spell was thrown with precision, anticipating where he was going to go and he jumped into the lemon green light of "_Tarantallegra_!"

He gasped, glancing around in confusion as nothing seemed to happen. Blaise was shaking his head at him, wearing a contrite frown.

And then, suddenly his body lurched forward as his feet began tapping the ground at a rhythm, moving faster and faster and within seconds, he was panting, glancing at his legs in horror.

"Yeah, that's it, Potter—"

"Dance! Dance for us—" The Weasley's smirks were wide and sardonic, and he whimpered where he stood, feeling his fists clench as he made out a crowd turn the corner and appear on the corridor, all wearing the Gryffindor tie.

"You could've made this easier on yourself—"

The other twin shrugged. "At least, now you get to see what adjustments we're making—"

"Tell us if you like 'em, eh?"

They shared a glance and laughed.

"Fred! George! What the—" The boys' eyes went wide and they glanced at each other in a look that Harry instantly knew was his opening.

A tall, dark-skinned witch was marching towards them, swinging her arms as she came, her face grim and set.

The twins whirled about, hands raised to placate. "Now, Angelina—"

"Angie luv—"

Harry hurriedly dug into his pocket, fumbling for his wand.

The crowd had surrounded the twins now, mutters going about. People extended their neck around the twins, pointing and murmuring at his legs dancing and then there was laughing—

A whack sounded and suddenly there was no laughter.

"Ow! Bloody witch, what'd you do that for?"

"Attacking a helpless first year? You're no better than Flint—"

"You take that back—"

"Plus, Potter here isn't even helpless—"

The crowd was murmuring nervously, casting worried glances behind them as a door snapped open. Some were pointing at Harry, trying to get the attention of the Weasleys' but it was too late.

"_Slugulus Erecto_!" he cried with a delighted beam on his face.

The twins whirled about, frowning slightly and one of them timed it perfectly to get a face-full of the dull green streak of light that was the Slug-Vomiting Charm.

"George!" came the girl's distressed cry as she elbowed the other twin out of the way, who was watching "George" clutch his stomach with a horrified and confused look.

"George" stumbled, falling to one knee and then slumped to the ground.

He glanced up at the girl who was bending down over him, frowning in concern, and he tried to speak and Harry watched on, almost greedily drinking in the scene, as the boy belched, and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto the ground, crawling away.

Harry's legs gave out, still dancing but he laughed at the horrified look on George's face, and the screams of the girl and the crowd, nervously backing away, tiptoeing across the ground for fear of touching a slug—

"SOMEBODY BETTER EXPLAIN WHAT THE MEANING OF ALL THIS IS, THIS MINUTE!"

Professor McGonogall was back, elbowing her way past the crowd. She took in the scene, George shuddering on the ground as the slugs crawled across the ground around him, making this disturbing squelching sound as they went, Harry looking determined and grim against the wall, and the dark-skinned girl and the other twin hovering worriedly over the fallen twin.

"WELL?!"

Malfoy, Blaise and Theodore pushed to McGonogall's side and Harry felt his lips stretch into a smile at the sight of them.

"They attacked me, Professor—"

Her eyebrows shot to the top of her head. "Oh?" She glanced down at George, who chose that moment to belch out yet another slug and he winced.

"I… I was just defending myself, Professor—"

"It's true!"

The crowd behind them sucked in a breath and Harry blinked in shock at the dark-skinned girl, ducking her head. She looked like it pained her to have to speak but she sighed and glanced up into the Transfiguration professor.

"As you already know, Professor, we had a free period because of Quirrell—"

"And so?"

The twins were looking at the girl pleadingly, subtly shaking their head at her, and George even went as far to lunge for her hand but she pulled it away with a snarl.

"When I arrived, I saw them firing spells at him, backed into the wall… I mean—look at his… His legs—" His legs were still dancing horribly and he frowned down darkly at them. "They did that…!" she sounded disbelieving of her own story, her face almost vacant.

McGonogall cleared her throat, fidgeting on the spot. "I see…" She focused on the Weasley on the ground and her face tightened sharply. "Take him to the Hospital Wing, Fred! And I expect you and your brother at my office at eight sharp—I am ashamed to call you one of my Lions—but either way…" She drank in a deep breath and approached Harry.

Her wand suddenly appeared in her hand and he closed his eyes as she gave it an elegant wave and then he peeked out of one eye. His legs had stopped dancing and he glanced down, feeling it in amazement, touching it, gasping in delight.

"You may depart for your next class now, Mr. Potter!" McGonogall said with a small smile at him.

Harry gave a whoop of delight and jumped to his feet. Blaise was grinning widely and waved him over, and the four of them headed down to Herbology, just a touch of swagger in their steps.

* * *

**That's my take on Halloween! Obviously, I couldn't work Hermione in there as my Harry hardly even knows her! The next chapter is my personal favorite and so, I'm just itching to post it. If you guys go ballistic with the reviews, though, I just might break and post the next chapter early!**


	17. Quidditch, Meet Harry Potter

"Oi! Pass the plate!" Malfoy held out his hand expectantly and Theodore rolled his eyes, handing the blonde-haired boy the plate of scotch eggs they'd nicked from the kitchen a couple of hours back.

Malfoy sank his teeth into one of the eggs and emerged with a content sigh. He set the plate down on the table before him and stretched his legs, slouching in the couch with the rest of them.

"Best day ever!"

They all shared a small sigh as they thought back on the Weasley twins attacking him and the girl intervening and Malfoy and Blaise and Theodore going to collect McGonogall and the resulting detentions for the Weasley twins, them skiving History and Blaise showing them the kitchens after forcing them to cough up three galleons—

"You think McGonogall bans the Twins for the game?"

Harry sat up straight in the chair, glancing into Blaise's equally wide eyes. "No way!" he breathed.

Flint had been cautioning him all week about going up against the Weasley Twins, grudgingly admitting that the two were tough and horribly accurate with the Bludgers.

If McGonogall chose to suspend them for the game…

Malfoy shrugged, taking another bite of the scotch eggs as he furthered his train of thought. "I mean, that was some shitty stuff they did back there, wasn't it, attacking you, she's not likely to let that go—"

"POTTER! POTTER! WHERE IS HE?!"

Malfoy trailed off with a startled glance, sitting up straight in the couch as someone rushed down the Slytherin Dungeons, footsteps thundering behind him—

It was Flint, looking worried, his eyes flying about in distress and a tint of sweat on his forehead.

"There you are!"

His Captain dashed towards him, his arms going straight for his robes, shaking him where he sat and Harry blinked in shock, his face literally a hair away from Flint's.

"Is it true? They're all saying that the Weasley Twins attacked you—"

"Yeah, but it wasn't serious—"

Flint let go off him unceremoniously and he dropped back into the couch with a flop, rubbing his neck softly, frowning up at Flint.

"You were there?!" Flint asked him, leaning into Malfoy, and now Malfoy was hesitating, glancing around as if somebody was going to flash him a sign with explicit instructions with what he was supposed to do.

All that he found was a mostly empty Slytherin Dungeons, full of empty sofa's and a softly burning fireplace. The few second-years that were present were all trying to look like their Exploding Snap game was incredibly enthralling and quickly glanced away.

Malfoy gulped and nodded his head, looking pained as he did so.

Flint seemed to sag and then explode where he stood. "So, you mean to tell me that the Weasley Twins attacked my seeker—MY FUCKING SEEKER—and you just STOOD THERE?!"

Harry jumped in his seat and he wasn't the only one, Theodore was glancing around like he'd really like a new seat at that moment.

Blaise had somehow gotten a hold of the plate with scotch eggs and was watching Malfoy's face go pasty white as he nibbled on the eggs.

Malfoy whimpered. "I… er… They…"

Blaise gasped in disbelief as Flint lifted Malfoy out of the seat with his bare hands over the seat and carried him clean to the cupboards where he'd had a talk with Harry a couple of weeks ago.

Harry turned around in the sofa, his eyes wide in incredulity as Flint just let go off Malfoy like you'd dispose of a bag of potatoes and began wagging his finger at him.

"I DON'T GIVE A FLYING FUCK HOW SLYTHERIN YOU THINK YOU ARE, MALFOY—THAT'S MY SEEKER AND IF THERE'S EVEN A SLIVER OF "SLYTHERIN" INSIDE YOU—"

"Hey, guys, wanna go—exploring or anything, really? I couldn't care less!" Theodore asked, his voice low and shaky.

Harry nodded hurriedly, turning away from Malfoy shrinking and cowering before Flint, who was ballooning with rage and spite seemed to be flying out of his mouth as Malfoy trembled before him, deathly pale and his lips wobbling.

"Yeah, sounds good to me!"

He and Theodore jumped out of the couch, jerking a startled Blaise out of his stupor, a scotched egg dangling out of his mouth as he watched Flint shout at Malfoy, really laying it to him.

"What? No, come on, lads—this is the good shite!"

Malfoy didn't talk to them again that week but Harry barely noticed.

If he hadn't understood just how important Quidditch was before, he did now.

He couldn't seem to walk ten paces without hearing a word about the game on Saturday.

"It's over for you, Potter—"

"The Weasley Twins are going to end you—"

"Nuffin against you or anything but them Weasley Twins…?" Some boy whistled. "Merlin above!"

"Good luck on Saturday, Potter!" some Asian Ravenclaw girl whispered to him as she passed him in the corridor with an enchanting smile that had him staring after her. And then her face darkened. "You'll need it," she muttered quietly, going on her way.

Lucian and Pergerine lost Slytherin twenty-five points each, getting into in all-out fist-fight with Ravenclaw's Beaters, slapping Slytherin off their number one standing in the House Cup standings—

Flint ended up needing to stay the night in the Hospital Wing Wednesday, sprouting tentacles from his head—

"Those bloody Weasleys, probably—"

"Of fucking course, mate—but there's no proof, you get me?"

And Harry wisely decided to forego his late night exploring for the duration of the week after that, his stomach a bubble of nerves as he watched Flint moan in pain, swaying on the spot, muttering incorrigibly as he and Pucey worked together to carry their Captain to Pomfrey's care.

He flinched every time he saw the Weasley Twins in the corridors and they seemed to be everywhere.

He'd yelped in shock when one time he'd been busy in a stall widdling and they'd somehow just appeared outside. "Sup, Potter?"

"How you doing? Life treating you alright?"

He'd ran out the stall screaming bloody murder, his arms flailing over his head and, as Greengrass would later point out with a disgusted look on her face as Parkinson burst into shrill laughter, the zip to his trousers still very open.

He didn't know how they managed it, but they always seemed to pop up whenever he was alone. Even if it was for a split second, the Twins would somehow show, bare their teeth at him and then duck behind some tapestry—

And then, whoosh, they were gone!

It made him green with envy and he longed to send Moony a letter asking if he could show him more secrets in the castle but he didn't dare go up to the Owlery on his own—

And Blaise and Theodore repeatedly refused to go with him. Though, in all fairness, he didn't even feel the three of them would be number enough.

By the time Thursday evening rolled around, the hair on his skin was constantly standing up and he was twitching all the time, his head spinning with different sorts of Quidditch tactics and manoeuvres, and his heart was pounding incredibly quickly against his chest.

Flint tried to be of help but he ended up making things worse with his speech that evening, their last practice session before the match.

"There can be no denying that they have a decent side this year—the Weasley Twins are a menace! Any goal scored against Wood is almost guaranteed to be a belter—their Chasers might all go pro—"

Flint had stopped midway, realizing that there wasn't too much of a point in decreasing morale even further.

He limped into Potions class the next day—Flint had roped Terrence into defending him and commanded both Beater's to go "all out" on him, assuring Harry that it was the closest test to the Weasley twins he was likely to find anywhere.

Weasley took one look at him before the Potions classroom snapped open and guffawed openly with his mates.

And yet, Harry's eyes flashed open Saturday morning and he sat up, his body humming quietly.

Malfoy nodded at him as he skipped out of the bathroom and he beamed back. Terrence stopped him in the Slytherin Dungeons as he made his way up to breakfast.

"Good luck, Potter!" he said, patting his hair down. It was growing out a bit, no more as short as it had been at the beginning of term. "Just believe in yourself—you were brilliant Thursday evening!" He clapped Harry around the back.

Gemma Farley spared him the tiniest of smiles as he passed her, heading out of the Slytherin Dungeons and he raised a brow at her, and she shrugged back.

There was a cloud of anticipation in the air and even the skies smelt like broomsticks and sweat. He drank it all in greedily, not minding the numbing cold one bit.

He chuckled at the nods that came his way from other Houses, quickly accompanied by huddling heads and half-smothered laughter. His body seemed to be jerking forward on it's own accord but Blaise and Theodore managed to hold him back, steering him into the Great Hall.

It was thumping loud in the Great Hall.

He blinked as he pulled the double doors open, seeing the whole school crowded in there. The Gryffindors were banging on their table with their fists, making their table shake and shudder, the plates and forks and knives trembling and clattering as they chanted, "OOOOOOOH! GRYFFINDOR!"

It was a wave of sorts, starting at one end and then building up the table.

Harry did his best to ignore it but his eyes trailed over there a couple of times before he could get to Flint, who gave him nothing but a dark nod, dark circles under his eyes as he tore his toast into little pieces.

Harry nodded back, getting started with gathering his pancakes but Flint didn't let him get too far, instead directing him towards the toast and a cup of tea.

"It's your first game, innit, Potter—you don't want a full stomach, trust me!"

Harry shrugged and obeyed.

He didn't get a whole lot of eating done as the Gryffindors rumbled on, singing across from them. He could make out Weasley's dark-skinned friend waving a banner with him featured prominently with his lightning-bolt scar falling off his broom, wailing, as the Weasley twins sped past with their bats on their broomsticks, laughing.

He patted his hair down furiously, his stomach bubbling and when Flint announced that it was time, he shot to his feet, following and almost leading the Team out of the Great Hall in his haste to depart.

"Oi Potter!" Weasley called out as they passed the Gryffindor table, the noise level exploding, boo's raining over them and he glanced away, trying to appear cool and calm and unaffected. "My brothers are going to debroom you—debroom you!"

Harry sneered. "At least they can touch me—we all know you're too pathetic to get anything done!"

Longbottom and Finnigan wrapped their arms around him, keeping him in his seat and Harry smirked to himself.

The walk down to the Quidditch pitch was long and silent but Blaise and Theodore managed to catch up to them and wish Harry good luck, falling back at Flint's thunderous expression.

In the lockers room, their green Quidditch robes were laid out before them, the silver glinting in the dim lighting and Harry held his up delicately, drinking in the sight of his name staring back at him, shining above the seven that seekers wore.

Flint cleared his throat when they were all dressed and fitted up. Harry's shirt was a size too big for him and it hung over his elbows his but Flint simply shrugged at him.

"Can't be helped—and we can't touch the uniforms, they might call that tampering and have us forfeit the match!"

They were all solemn as they took a knee before Flint, holding their broom in one hand.

Their Captain sought out each and every one of their eyes.

"Today, you don the green and silver of the best House at Hogwarts. I want you to remember that as you fly about on your broomsticks—when you can't hear your House cheering and all you can hear is boo'ing! Remember why they are boo'ing, why they feel they must boo you!"

He stopped suddenly, breathing heavily, his gaze vacant and Harry could hear loud cheers almost shaking the locker room and he thought his knees would give out.

"Remember what your House—our House—stands for as you fly around on your broomsticks. Let them feel, let them admit it through clenched teeth that you are better, greater than them.

"Remember who you play for, lads—and above all: win! Bring it in; Slytherin on three!" They huddled around Flint, everyone raising their arm and Harry squeezed into the middle. "One, two three—SLYTHERIN!"

They followed Flint to the edge of the locker room and now he could hear whooping, clapping and loud cheering shaking the entire pitch. It was rocking in here and he could feel his entire being shaking and swaying where he stood.

He glanced about nervously, wondering if he was the only one and then quickly ducked his head.

"AND NOW, THE SLYTHERIN TEAM!"

The boo's covered over them like a cloud and Harry winced, stumbling back. Yes, Flint had just talked about it but—

He sighed, steadying his nerves and clutched onto his broom for support.

Miles got onto his broom and took off before his eyes and then Lucian and Pergerine, and Pucey and the other Chaser—

"You alright, Potter?"

Harry nodded because it was better than saying his knees were shaky and his palms were clammy and his whole upper body was vibrating like mad.

"Good, catch me that Snitch, you hear?!"

He didn't say it but there was a subtle, "Or else!" hidden in there and Harry gulped, ducking his head, placing the broom under him and kicked off.

"AND THEIR SEEKER—PLAYING FOR THE FIRST TIME! WE ALL KNOW WHO HE IS, DON'T WE? HARRY POTTER!"

The stands were packed.

He blinked at the magnitude of people seated in there because it was a whole lot different than at practice where there was nobody seated in the stands.

Binoculars flashed at him and he blinked furiously, glancing away, irritated that they were even allowed binoculars, after all the stands were raised really high in the air.

Flint got called out last as team Captain, and the boo's wilted his ear. The Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs poured it on, as well, making it abundantly clear who they wanted to win this match, some even going as far to wave Lion banners and wear Gryffindor hats and scarves.

He winced at the banner of a Lion ripping the head of a Snake off over and over again at the Ravenclaw stands, his hand slipping off his handle for a second as his eyes connected with one of the Weasley twins, grinning devilishly at him.

He glanced away, looking into the Slytherin crowd.

They were way more tame, waving a large green flag with a silver snake embroidered in the middle, hissing. Or at least making hissing motions, he couldn't quite hear the snake hissing over the other Houses. He spotted Blaise jumping up and down between an exasperated Greengrass and Theodore, Malfoy's face pulled, arms across his chest beside Parkinson, who was waving her hand back and forth, trying to spark Malfoy to life—

And he clutched onto his broom tightly, steering it into a little loop, suddenly feeling lighter, he lowered his frame almost lying across the broomstick, rearing to go…

The referee was Madam Hooch, and she blared her whistle loudly, waving her wand over her head at the same time and the crate seated on the ground beneath them burst open, shooting out the balls—

"AND WE'RE OFF!—TODAY'S GAME IS BETWEEN GRYFFINDOR AND SLYTHERIN IF YOU'VE BEEN SLEEPING UNDER A ROCK FOR THE PAST TWO AND A HALF MONTHS!"

"JORDAN!"

Professor McGonagall was watching Lee Jordan closely as he commentated, leaning forward and glaring like a hawk.

"AS ALWAYS, I'M ACCOMPANIED BY THE LOVELY HEAD OF GRYFFINDOR HOUSE, PROFESSOR MCGONOGALL!"

"REPORT ON THE GAME!"

"ERRR… YES, THE GAME! ALSO IN ATTENDANCE, PROFESSOR SNAPE, SLIMY SLYTHERIN—"

"JORDAN—"

"EVERY TEACHER EXCEPT DUMBLEDORE, REALLY—"

"JORDAN, LAST WARNING!"

Harry snorted, jerking his broom upwards and he climbed up further into the skies, keeping his eyes trained for any sign of any glinting something.

His body stilled and he saw a Bludger spinning dangerously fast towards him and he floundered for the handle of his broom, throwing his weight behind his waist as he thrust forward; steering his broom into a half-circle, evading the jet-black ball.

He let out a breath of relief, his head cocking around him desperately—

Another whack sounded and now, he had to grab onto his broomstick really tightly and tug sharply, drawing him to a stop in the sky, the Bludger roaring past his ear, leaving him gasping on his broom, wide-eyed.

"OOOOO! ALMOST GOT POTTER THERE, AT THIS RATE THE WEASLEY TWINS' PROMISE TO DEBROOM POTTER'S GOING TO BE COMING TRUE—THEY'RE FLYING CIRCLES AROUND BOLE AND DERRICK—"

It was maddening, he didn't have a second of rest—

He didn't know how it'd happened but somehow there was one Weasley twin hovering high above him and there was another just a few meters off the ground. They'd somehow managed to pin him in within the two of them.

They were doing this odd thing where the one underneath him would welt the Bludger his way, then the other above would give chase and as Harry evaded the second Bludger that the one underneath sent his way, the twin above him would whack the other Bludger his way, forcing him to jerk his broom away, fleeing away in panic back down to the ground.

It was a maddening loop and he couldn't seem to escape.

He was surviving so far, but he was fly enough to realize that he was dancing around dragon fire here. The Twins had already managed to clip his broom three time and his Beaters, who were supposed to protecting him, were flying after the Bludgers always seconds too late, and Lucian was already bleeding freely from his nose—

"IS THAT THE SNITCH?" Harry stopped on his broom, glancing about wildly.

He could see a Gryffindor—the Seeker, certainly—going into a dive and he thrust his broom forward, ducking underneath a Bludger.

He ground his teeth in frustration as yet another Bludger forced him to spin his broom in a u-turn, whizzing right past the Bludger to a collective breath from the crowd.

The Gryffindor Seeker was far away from him, close to the ground, near the Slytherin goal posts and stretching his arm out.

The Chasers had all come to a stop in the air, watching with baited breath and Harry egged his broom on, bouncing on it and slapping it around the handle desperately—

A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below—Miles Bletchley, their Keeper, had come out of his goal posts to block the Gryffindor Seeker on purpose, spinning the Seeker off course, leaving him twirling incredibly fast in the air.

Harry grinned and shot after the Snitch, suddenly giddy at all the boo's being directed his way, he even took one hand off the broom, waving the crowd on, he placed his hand on his ear as if he couldn't quite hear them.

He could clearly see Weasley's face in the crowd, waving his clenched fist, saying something or the other certainly not complimentary.

The Snitch was gone again—

"THE SNITCH'S GONE NOW AFTER THAT DISGUSTING PIECE OF CHEATING—"

"JORDAN!"

Harry laughed.

And there was good reason to, as well.

The Weasley Twins were finally off his back, the distraction of the Snitch and the resulting penalty had given Lucian and Pergerine enough time to get a few whacks in there.

In fact, as he watched, a savage Bludger ricocheted off Pergerine's bat and collided into one of the Gryffindor Chaser's arms and the Quaffle popped out of her hands, free falling towards the ground.

Harry gave chase and wrapped the ball in his arms and a hush fell over the stadium and up in the skies, the other fourteen broomsticks jerked to a stop in confusion, watching him whizz past by them with the Quaffle tucked under his arm.

It took him entering the scoring area and getting a mere few away from Wood hovering before the post in the middle like was standard Keeper positioning for play to resume.

One Weasley twin whacked a bullet of a Bludger his way but it was eons too late, Harry cocking his hand back and following through with the release. He zoomed past with a little smirk on his face at the silence as the Quaffle sailed past the post on Wood's right past him, stretched out on his broomstick.

Lee Jordan sounded shocked and floored. "AND SLYTHERIN SCORE THEIR FIRST POINTS TODAY—THANKS TO THEIR SEEKER….?!"

Flint called a timeout and Harry dismounted his broom with a wide smile that faded once he saw everybody frowning at him.

"What?"

"What the bloody fuck was that, Potter?!"

Harry felt like he'd been slapped. "What? You mean scoring? Like you lot have been supposed to be doing—"

"It's not your job to be scoring goals—"

"Well, maybe it should—I'm doing it better than you lot, amn't I?"

Flint suddenly looked murderous and he took a hesitant step backwards but he needn't have worried, the rest of the team gathered before Flint, reminding him that he couldn't well kill Harry just because he fancied it.

"Alright, fine!" Flint raised his arms up to show that he wasn't going to do anything and they let him go.

"But you go back to playing Seeker—"

"It's not like my Beaters—"

"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up and do what I tell you to!"

Harry shook his head, and offered his Beaters an apologetic shrug. "No! If we lose this game, you'll put it on my head so I'm not going down without an actual go—these last plays without the Beaters trying to defend me with all they've got—"

"That's their job, Potter—Merlin, d'you even get Quidditch?"

"I've been doing just fine!"

Flint palmed his face, breathing heavily, and then he glanced to the skies, like he was asking for some deity to grant him some patience.

"Flint…" Pergerine looked hesitant, uncertain as he raised his hand. Flint grunted at him. "Potter's on to something—I'm not saying it's a good plan—" he rushed on to defend himself at Flint's fierce glare.

"But honestly, that pressure from the Weasleys is absurd, any other Seeker at Hogwarts would be debroomed by now for sure!" Lucian cut in to say.

Pergerine shrugged as if to say, 'Exactly that'. "They can't possibly keep that up the whole game—"

"He's still kicking—I say we leave the Twins to him, he's been doing alright! Our Playmaker could use some help, maybe actually get the Quaffle here and there! Get some points on the board!"

It was true—that had been the problem! The Beaters were so focused trying to keep Harry alive that they totally ignored the Chasers, allowing Gryffindors Chaser to show just how much better they were than their Slytherin counterparts.

Flint sighed, glancing among them like they'd all grown extra heads.

"This is mad—fucking barmy!"

Pucey shrugged next to him, he was their Playmaker. "Maybe—but it's the only chance we have at actually scoring some goals—and if I may…? Let Potter help me at Playmaker, as well!"

"WHAT?!" It wasn't just Flint gaping at Pucey in confusion, the whole Team turned to stare at him with narrowed eyes, confused.

Madame Hooch landed next to them. "Timeout's over!"

Flint turned to Harry, and nodded. "I'm putting this game in your hands, Potter but just know if you fuck up—" The whistle sounded and he took in a deep breath, taking off into the skies.

"AND WE'RE BACK—GRYFFINDOR'S UP SEVENTY TO TEN," Harry winced at that score line, expertly pulling away from another of the Weasley twins Bludgers—

"Potter!"

He glanced up just in time to see the Quaffle sail towards him from Flint and his Captain dashed off into a dive beneath him and he joined his feet together under the broom to balance himself and raised both hands to catch the pass, tucking the Quaffle neatly under his right arm, steering his broom forward with his left.

He could sense the nerves, the uncertainty rolling off the others but it was also plain to see especially in the dark-skinned girl's eyes as she chased after him on her broom, her face set in a determined frown as she extended her arms to reach at the Quaffle—

He snorted at her attempt and jerked his broom to a stop as he threw his weight across the broom, willing it in the other direction and it spun in midair, zipping past her.

The crowd gasped in amazement as he left the girl looking silly behind him in the skies, struggling for her balance.

"OOOH! NOT BAD THERE FROM POTTER, PULLING OUT SOME MOVES!"

A sickening crack sounded and he whirled about on his broom and he hurriedly glanced about in panic, seeing a Bludger heading incredibly truly for his head—

Flint was just below him and he removed his hands from the Quaffle and spun away, gasping as the Bludger came rushing into his broomstick, spinning him around, making him a bit dizzy.

He did a little loop to get his bearings back as the crowd cheered—and he scowled, figuring that meant that Flint hadn't managed to bury the chance Harry had given him—his eyesight clearing just in time as Pucey flew past him, dumping the Quaffle in his hands and taking off along his side, one of the Gryffindor Chasers giving chase buying his arms tucked as if he had the Quaffle.

He snorted to himself and drove his broom forward, but there were still two Chasers to beat, one was busy tailing Flint, close to the scoring area and one was zooming towards him at quite some speed, scowling darkly.

He slowed down slowly, pulling at his broom a touch, knowing he was going to have to time this expertly.

She was almost at his face when he held out the Quaffle before her invitingly and predictably, she swiped at it, and he pulled the Quaffle back, juggling it around his back in his hands, steering his broom with his hips around her outstretched arm as she fought to regain her balance.

The crowd was quiet as he entered the scoring circle for the second time that day and brought the score within fifty. You could hear the Slytherins whooping and clapping and whistling for the first time all day and the snake on the Slytherin banner hissing loudly.

Harry high-fived Flint as he pulled his broom away, ducking under a Bludger with ease.

Lee Jordan didn't seem to know what to say.

"WELL, THIS IS A BIT DIFFERENT, ISN'T IT? SLYTHERIN ARE USING POTTER AS A FOURTH CHASER—YOU'VE GOT TO WONDER WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THE SNITCH SHOWS UP—"

Half an hour later, the Gryffindors called a time-out and they dismounted their brooms, breathing heavily but Harry was grinning widely.

"What's got you so happy, Potter? We're getting our arses handed to us out there!" Flint got into his face, glaring down at him and he took a couple of steps back.

"It's 150-90, innit? I catch the Snitch and we win this thing—don't see why I shouldn't be pleased 'bout that!"

Flint nodded sharply at that, backing off. The rest of the Team nodded their heads, shrugging in that 'he's got a point' type of way. "You better catch me that Snitch, then, Potter!"

The timeout ended soon after and they took to the skies again.

The Weasley twins weren't as sharp as they'd been at the beginning of the match, they took longer tracking the Bludgers down and the speed in the jet-black balls wasn't anything intimidating—at least, not to Harry. They were quite obviously sweating and their chests rose and fell with obvious exhaustion, those Beater bats were wearing them out, it seemed.

He looped in and out of Bludgers with ease, even getting fancy and tossed a no-look pass right into the flight of Flint, who'd streaked past unmarked into the Scoring area and took aim, releasing the ball at a tight angle, getting so much pace and precision into it that Wood, diving for it, couldn't quite spread himself enough to stop the Quaffle from sailing into the post on his left, his lips forming a tight disappointed frown.

"AND THE SNAKES SCORE THEIR TENTH! WHO COULD'VE PREDICTED THAT—OOH! WICKED BLOW TO THE BACK THERE FOR JOHNSON, SHE COUGHS UP THE QUAFFLE, IT'S WITH PUCEY NOW, HE'S ALREADY SCORED TWO, MIND YOU, BANG OUT OF ORDER FOR A PLAYMAKER, I'D SAY—HE DUMPS THE BALL IN FLINT'S ARMS WHO LOSES SPINNET, GOING THE OTHER DIRECTION, OH, THAT'S QUITE A PASS TO POTTER UPFIELD WHO'S MANAGED TO GET AHEAD OF BELL IN THE SCORING AREA—OH MERLIN, SAVE IT WOOD, PLEASE! EHHH? HE'S THROWN UP A LOB…?—

Harry raised a hand in celebration, his face flushed in delight as the crowd sucked in their breath, watching with baited breath but he pushed his broom forward, not bothering to watch, confident that Flint would finish the job—

"NOW, THAT'S ACTUALLY DECENT FROM FLINT WITH THE FINBOURGH FLINK—CAUGHT IT REALLY WELL WITH HIS BROOM, WOOD HAD NO CHANCE THERE, BETTER LUCH NEXT TIME, MATE—"

You wouldn't know it listening to the crowd, they were boo'ing like their lives depended on it, waving their hands and squawking, spitting, eyes narrowed at them angrily.

It was a good thing he wasn't depending on his hearing to expect the Quaffle anymore or to expect the Bludgers—he just seemed to have developed a radar, his body seemed to tense and twitch when they were incoming and he'd pull his broom away to safety—because it was impossible to hear anything as the match dragged on, both teams exchanging goals.

Slytherin was doing alright scoring but their defence was just woeful. Harry had no clue how he was supposed to steal the Quaffle away from the Gryffindor Chasers and he was very disturbed by the thought of fumbling for the Quaffle and accidentally touching something he wasn't supposed to—

Flint's style of playing defence was simple—just bump into them and dive after the Quaffle when it popped out. It was effective, too, except their Captain was often way too slow to catch up with the witches that were Gryffindor's Chasers.

Miles Bletchley couldn't Keep a Quaffle out to save his life it seemed, everything flew past him, even when it was just a case of punching his arms out, the boy somehow managed to open his arms and cock up what should be an easy save.

Pucey was too skinny to have too much success against Gryffindor's speedy but strong Chasers, either—

And their Beaters were in a serious tussle with the Weasley Twins, whacking the Bludgers back and forth with real purpose, both sets of Beaters looking a bit worse for wear, dripping blood from their nose and in the case of the Slytherin beaters, lips swollen and eyes, too, swollen shut—

"OH, LOOK AT THIS—HE'S GONE INTO A DIVE, OUR SEEKER'S GONE INTO A DIVE—"

"JORDAN!"

Harry jerked hard on his broom handle in mid-air, and it was atrocious timing because Pucey tossed him the ball but he wasn't paying attention so one of the Gryffindor Chasers plucked the ball out of the sky and zoomed towards their goal and Flint shook his head at him, his one arm held out in a question as he gave chase—

But Harry had already gone into a dive, roaring after Gryffindor's Seeker. He hugged his broom closely, laying across the handle and he felt the broom shoot forward at an even faster speed.

He lowered his head, trying to drag his broom further forward as he closed in on the seeker, trying to tuck in, make himself smaller.

He could see the Snitch now, fluttering away from the Seeker as he stretched out his thin arms.

He was on the boy's tail now, so close that he could make out the seven shining on his jersey but not quite the name—

The ball jerked upwards and the boy gasped, trying to pull his broom upwards in chase but Harry was faster, and he stuck his leg out slightly, clipping the end of his broom, sending his opponent into a dizzying spin—

An outraged cry came from the stands but Harry didn't stray his eyes from the Snitch, he was so close now, he could hear it's wing flapping—

He left one arm on the broom and extended his other, swiping madly and he missed, almost falling over—

BOOM!

He winced as his vision went hazy all of a sudden and he fumbled wildly for his handle, holding on for dear life as his broom spun around in a circle, a loud, blaring, whirring sound going off in his head.

His chest stung horribly with pain and he blinked his eyes, squinting around for the Snitch.

His throat caught in his mouth as he saw the Gryffindor Seeker a little below him opening his body, extending his hand, the Snitch glittering just before him—

He didn't think, he just grabbed on to the hilt of his broom and pulled the broom back, jumping off.

The wind slapped him, sucking him in invitingly and his arms flayed through the sky as he spiralled straight to the ground.

He saw his opponent open his hands and try to close but then he was there before him, wrapping his arms around the small golden ball as it twitched and whirred and buzzed, trying to escape his hand—

He raised his arm in delight, waving the Snitch over his head, whooping—

And then a dizzying pain shot through him and he cried out in stinging pain, his eyes watering at the impact and for Harry, everything went black.

* * *

**Absolutely love Quidditch! Quite different from the canon! version but I thoroughly enjoyed writing out an actual Quidditch match. Also, with my tweaking of Quirrell, it didn't make all too much sense for the bloke to attempt to murder Potter, so I had to go at it from another angle.**

**As always, I'll ask that you drop a comment, let me know what you thought about it, and PEACE!**


	18. A Hero in Snake's Clothing

Harry's mind was foggy and cloudy as he slowly came to consciousness.

He wriggled about groggily, stretching his legs as his eyes blinked open and yawned loudly.

He brought up his hands out to help his push into a sitting position, glancing about curiously, rubbing at his eyes. He was in the Hospital Wing, he realized immediately, seeing the blindingly white walls attack his eyes.

He frowned as he made out Lucian and Pergerine standing before his bed, Pergerine was beaming down at him.

Lucian gave his fellow Beater a soft, affectionate punch on his shoulder. "And he awakes at last…"

Pergerine laughed. "Good thing, too—"

"Did we win?!"

"Did we win…?!" Lucian looked down at Harry like one might look at Crabbe and Goyle when they said something so incredibly dense but Harry shrugged back, he couldn't seem to recall a definite ending to the game after he'd tumbled through the skies.

"Well, did we?! I don't see Flint so he's probably right pissed at me, isn't he—"

"When any of you jump off your broomstick for Slytherin, we can talk, until then, none of you even think of touching my Seeker, yer hear that?!"

Harry blinked at that, backing into his bedpost, shaking his head incredulously.

"Flint said that?!"

Lucian nodded solemnly. "Yup—"

"Personally, I'd start watching my bumhole—"

Lucian burst out laughing and Harry couldn't quite resist an amused smile.

"What're you guys doing here by the way? Not worried about me, were we?"

Lucian and Pergerine stiffened noticeably, glancing away and Harry laughed.

"Well, your mate Zabini had to go get started on some essay—"

Harry was frowning. "What essay?"

Lucian shrugged. "How d'you expect us to know? Been a while since I was an ickle firstie; anyhow, Flint'd already been to visit you a couple of times and it occurred to us that we hadn't been to visit you—"

"Oh, you do care!" Harry cackled at his Beaters stricken expressions.

"Had to make sure Flint wasn't stretching the truth, didn't we, with all his, 'Oh, he's getting better' talk—"

"To be fair, you looked well out of it when we got to the ground!"

"Something like this!" Lucian pulled his body at an odd angle, legs tucked almost inside of his body, and his neck oddly angled to the left.

Harry winced.

"Besides, I had no interest in actually getting started on Charms—"

"Tell me 'bout it…" Pergerine said with a shudder.

Harry was frowning as he run back over Pergerine's words in his head. "Wait, how long have I been out?"

Pergerine and Lucian glanced at each other. "Some two odd days—"

"What?!" Harry felt his body tighten as he sat up straightening, his face taut and alert.

Lucian looked amused. "What? You thought you'd just fall out of the sky and pop out of the Hospital Wing in under a day—"

"The matron did say you'd probably be released tomorrow morning—"

"I've been here two days?"

Pergerine snorted. "Look at it from the bright side…" he trailed off, his face pulling into a frown as he obviously tried to think up just what the bright side was.

"We won the match, and you got to miss two days of school," Lucian chimed in.

Harry snorted at that. "What was the score, by the way?"

"270-220 Slytherin!" Lucian recited with a smile, flashing his teeth for Harry, and Pergerine wagged his brows at Harry beside Lucian.

A creak sounded and the matron turned up. Lucian and Pergerine stiffened immediately, and then nodded at Harry. "Well, we've confirmed you live—"

"We'll catch you when you're released from here, yeah?!"

Harry was indeed released the next morning, though Pomfrey made him stuff down breakfast in the Hospital Wing, her beady eyes on him the whole time.

He breathed in the fresh air outside the Hospital Wing greedily, shaking his head delightedly as he skipped to the Slytherin Dungeons.

It wasn't a conscious decision, he hadn't set out to do it, after all, but there was a proper spring in his step as he weaved in and out of corridors and shortcuts on his way to the Slytherin Dungeons.

Terrence was the first Slytherin he came across, in the corridor to the right of the Slytherin Dungeons stone wall entrance.

"Brilliant—insanely brilliant catch, Potter!" They fist bumped and Harry laughed, reciting the Slytherin password, grateful it hadn't changed.

It was practically empty in there, the soft crackle of the fireplace sounding around the room. A couple of third-years and second-years were spread around, furiously scribbling on their parchment and they glanced up when he showed up.

He made out Montague—outside of Malfoy, one of the loudest critics of Harry making the Team—sneering at him before scowling back down into his parchment after the girl he was working with whacked him about the head.

People nodded at him as he made for the staircase down to the dormitories, even Warrington—another one of his critics, incredibly large with forearms that were almost as wide as Harry's head, but he was actually on the Team—had clapped him around the back.

"Suppose you're actually worth something, Potter!"

Harry had a cheeky smile for Weasley in front of the Potions classroom and a nod for that dark-skinned friend of his that had brought the banner for the game.

"Got your prediction a tad wrong in that drawing, didn't you?" Harry sniggered but Weasley and his mates all scowled like they'd smelled something foul and turned away from him.

Blaise was smirking beside Harry. "Mate, I've been missing you, class has been dry without you!"

At dinner that night, Flint waved Harry over the moment he showed up with Blaise and Theodore in tow, and all of Slytherin applauded him as he walked down the Hall with a lopsided smirk on his face. His head, almost on it's own accord, swiveled over to the Gryffindor table and his smirk stretched into a full on smile as he saw Weasley, Finnigan and co. glaring daggers at him.

You could hardly miss his arrival, Flint made sure of that. The Slytherin students chanted his name, and made a toast to him and even Snape looking like there was something foul under his nose up at the High Table couldn't dampen Harry's mood.

The other Houses watched proceedings quietly, and dinner was incredibly quiet at the Lions table, and Harry mentioned that to Flint, who was making an impressively large plate for Harry.

His Captain laughed at that, his eyes going to the Gryffindor table. "They almost remind me of Ravenclaw tonight—but thicker, denser…"

Life had never been better.

"Took some balls, Potter, that did, jumping off your broom…!"

"Anything for the win, eh?"

"Bet those Weasley Twins take you more seriously the next game!" They'd apparently opened up a betting pool and lost quite a bit of coin thanks to Harry's performance.

"Thumping good catch—good fucking game, as well!"

"I reckon you might be the best Seeker at Hogwarts already!"

It was hard not to feel good about himself as the compliments kept coming in, a warm feeling building in his chest and he sat straighter in his seat, his back straighter, his smirk very wide. He managed, though, with Blaise putting him in his place almost like clockwork.

"Don't let it get to your head, if I have to deal with Malfoy the Second, I'll murder you myself!"

Harry's happy cloud got punctured the next Saturday.

He and Blaise finally managed to rope Theodore into going out exploring, though Harry was almost certain his weedy friend only caved so he could escape Tracey and a group of second-and-third year girls. To be fair, he'd been yearning to escape them for hours, as well, so he wasn't whinging much.

The girls had been hovering around the whole day, asking Harry all sort of daft and obvious Quidditch questions and pestering him to teach them how to catch the Snitch. Theodore had been making increasingly frustrated snarls as the clock ticked on, his nose deep in yet another tome.

They had just climbed up to the first floor when the Weasley Twins burst out from behind a statue of some wizard on the first floor, cornering them in a corridor that Harry saw much to his chagrin to be very empty.

He pulled out his wand as the Twins neared, giving Blaise and Theodore a hard look.

"Well, at least, this gets your nose out of your book!" Harry sneered, seeing that Theodore's book had thudded to the floor as Theodore watched the Twins get very close, swallowing with obvious difficulty.

"Put that away, Potter! We're not here to fight!"

Harry snorted, keeping his wand very properly trained on the Twins. "No, thank you very much! Don't trust you guys—"

One of the Twins shrugged at him. "Suit yourself—"

"This is just a warning—"

"We've got our eyes on you—"

"You were behind that Flint business, weren't you—"

"Giving us the blame for that—"

"We saw what you did to our Seeker—"

"Anything else you lads wanted to get off your chest?" Harry said, smirking. He waved his wand. "Or was that all? Because I can tell you, from the bottom of my heart—I'm shaking in my boots—"

One of them sneered at him. "Go on, laugh it up—"

"Better to get it all out now anyway—"

"Don't come crying to us when the tables turn—"

"Just ask your mate, Flint—"

"We'll make your life hell!"

Their eyes were glowing passionately and their fists were clenched very tightly, scowling fiercely. Harry stretched out his wand arm, checking out of the corner of his eye and was pleased to note that Blaise had his wand out, holding it very tight—

But when he looked back up, the Weasley Twins had turned their backs on him, walking away.

He gulped, the thought occurring to him as his heart began racing… There was nobody here, he couldn't possibly lose points… They'd never see it coming, as well…

He pushed his right foot forward but before he could even work out what spell he wanted to use, and what hand movement was necessary, the Twins had disappeared up the staircase and he slumped, sighing with no shortage of relief.

"Bit uptight, aren't they?" He laughed nervously, shrilly.

Blaise didn't respond, just nodding, his face tightly pulled in a frown. Theodore bent down to wrap up his book.

"Well, this exploring lark's been good—who wants to go back to the Slytherin Dungeons?"

They followed after Theodore without a word of complaint.

* * *

"And then I woke up—"

"Did you guys win?!" Remus leaned forward, his eyes shining brightly, obviously properly captivated by the story of Slytherin defeating Gryffindor.

Harry sagged back into his seat, his face stretching into a smirk. "Funny you should ask that: I had the exact same question when I woke up in the Hospital Wing, but yes, we did, 270-220!"

Remus was shaking his head, his face a bright smile. "Your father must be shaking in his grave knowing he gave birth to a child who caused Gryffindor defeat!"

Harry laughed, his body shaking, his head swiveling about.

"This place is bloody brilliant, by the way, thank you!"

Remus had just brought him to a room on the fourth floor that was located behind a mirror. It was very odd, and Harry had been understandably—he felt anyway—doubtful when Remus had told him that he needed to jump through the glass to get to the passageway just like Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters.

It was rather large in there, one could easily hold a meeting for a large amount of people. There were four cushy sofas around a rather large square wooden table, parchments and a bottle of dried ink spread out upon it. The floors were painted scarlet and gold, and there was a large Gryffindor banner that Harry sharply glanced away from.

There were also pictures of Muggle girls in bikini's, motorcycles, and a Quidditch team.

"Is that my father?" he asked, just for confirmation.

Remus followed his outstretched arm, and he nodded his head, smiling. "Oh, yes, he was quite the player you know…"

"No way!" Harry pushed forward, sitting up. "Was he a Seeker?"

Remus shook his head, sharing a sad smile with Harry. "No, he was a Chaser—a rare blend between a Playmaker and a clinical Finisher, he was a joy to watch, I tell you, Harry."

Harry smiled.

"You think he'd be proud of me?—I mean, I made the Team in my first year—"

"Harry!" Remus was shaking his head, beaming, his smile incredibly wide. "Of course he'd be proud of you! Just look at you, one of the best students in your year, Seeker in your first year…" Remus shook his head at Harry. "What's there not to like, huh?"

Harry nodded with a small smile, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice that Remus had told him to call from the Kitchens.

"You know, I'm really glad you're enjoying Slytherin—I admit, I was rather worried about you—"

"You and me both, to tell you the truth…" He whistled and Remus laughed.

"Back in my day—your father's, as well—Slytherin used to despise the name of Potter!" Remus laughed, and his wrinkles seemed to fade, becoming much less striking. He seemed so much lighter and at ease, sagging into his sofa, his hands animated and his green eyes coming alive. "We thought up some of our best pranks in this very room, you know… Oh, the stories I could tell you…"

* * *

"Is it started?"

Harry was having a tough time of it balancing the baskets of food he had gathered from the Kitchens in his small arms, but he was managing, the thought of Quidditch—professional Quidditch!—driving him on.

Flint, Lucian and Pergerine cheered his arrival, not even lending him a hand as he steadily and carefully made his way towards them.

He had to duck underneath pacing students muttering to themselves as they tried to memorize something or the other. There were all sort of study groups huddled around tables and he had to slink his waist around them, incredibly precisely and carefully to make sure he didn't spill food or disrupt anybody. He also had to take great care he didn't step on anyone else and at the same time, keep an eye on his footing, as well.

He almost stumbled over Malfoy's extended foot, but the blonde-haired boy pulled his outstretched leg back before Harry could properly connect with it, and they shared a glance before Malfoy glanced away, returning back to the study group the rest of the First years had formed—they did have a Transfiguration test the next day, after all.

Flint quickly disposed Harry of the custard tart when he reached the button-tufted sofa, holding it delicately. Harry succeeded in leaving Pucey with the baskets of food, skipping away, clutching an apple pie with a delighted smile. He tucked in beside the rest of the Quidditch Team, giving Pucey a cheeky smile as the boy returned with the baskets of food, having to tuck in at the edge of the sofa.

"Tough luck, mate!" Harry said with a shrug.

Pucey gave him an unimpressed look, dropping the basket to the table before them. "Get stuffed—"

"Shhh!"

The wireless began hissing and churning and they all leaned forward, bringing their ears closer.

"Who's playing again?"

Harry snorted at Pergerine's question.

"Only you could be so thick—"

"Oi! Take that back!"

Harry shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. "Why? It's not like it's not true—"

"You cheeky twat, I'll—"

"Shhhh!" It was more insistent this time from Flint, his face hard and serious as he brought his finger to his lips to shush them.

Pergerine and Harry exchanged a quick, amused glance and he glanced away, observing Flint as their Captain began adjusting the wireless, tapping it with his wand, twisting his wand and frowning down at it as the whirring sound blared on.

"Who has the Pass Slip?"

Harry dug into his pocket and handed the parchment in question over to Flint in a hurry. It had only arrived in the morning, though that made sense—Flint had only ordered it the night before!

Flint was frowning at the Pass Slip. "What the actual fuck?! Why's it not working?! A see of pears!" Flint tapped the wireless and it shuddered, whirring as they watched, the wireless puffed out a wisp of black smoke, and they all stared, dumbfounded before Harry broke down to the giggles.

"Give that here, lemme take a look!"

Harry's body gave a startled jerk and he was pleased to see that Pucey beside him was taken aback, as well, jumping in his seat.

Terrence held his arm out for Flint expectantly and their Captain passed the Pass Slip over with a scowl.

His eyes glided across the Slip, a brow arched in question. "How much did this cost?"

"Seven sickles!"

Terrence slowly glanced up from the Pass Slip, his blinking face betraying his amazement. In the sofa, Lucian and Pergerine were looking slack-jawed, gawping at Flint.

"I know a guy! So, can you help us or not? The match's probably already started…!"

Terrence shrugged. "I dunno… I hope you haven't been shafted—you know the official Pass Slip was priced at fifteen Sickles—"

"Yeah, well, I didn't have that type of coin—"

"So, spending six Sickles less on the off-chance that you're not getting fucked over here's a better plan, is it?"

Flint scowled, arms crossed across his chest mutinously.

Tergerine rolled his eyes, and brought out his wand, jabbing at the wireless, and twisting his wand about. He cleared his throat. "A sea of peers."

The wireless twitched and shook and then, a loud, continuous whirring sound went off, and they all gave Terrence a flat look, rather unimpressed.

"Well, this has been a waste of time; I can't believe we're going to miss the first game of the actual Knockouts—"

"GALLOPING FUCKING GRYINDYLOWS, THAT'S AN EVEN BETTER SAVE FROM GORDON HORTON TO DENY JOSCELIND WADDOCK—KEEPS THE SCORELINE WITHIN NINETY—"

Harry leaned forward, pressing his ear closer to the wireless, fumbling wildly for his apple pie, listening attentively as the match very quickly tiptoed away from the Chudley Cannons, despite Gordon Horton's best efforts.

This was his life now.

He went to class like always—well, except History, but nobody had called him out on that just yet. And when he saw Weasley, he made sure to remind the pillock that his favorite team had gotten their arse handed to them by Puddlemere.

Like Potions that Friday.

"Oi Weasley! Your finger must be hurting with all that finger-crossing you've been doing your whole life!"

And after dinner, he went to the Kitchens to get some food because listening to commentary was bland and boring without food.

The Knockouts were brilliant. The commentators knew how to paint the scenery, describing the match in such colourful detail, it was almost like they were actually physically present, not holed up in some boarding school in Scotland.

Flint tried to make the matches educational, waffling on about the potential to raise their level of play and such rubbish but that very quickly and abruptly got shut down, and to be fair, Flint let it go without too much of a fuss.

By mid-December, the teams that were to competing in the finals were known. The Montrose Magpies—record holders of the League Cup—were to fight it out against the Puddlemere United, incidentally Harry's favorite club in the British and Irish Quidditch League.

Harry was incredibly excited for the final of the League Cup, twitching with excitement. Blaise was, as well, and the two could frequently be found huddled together, whispering theories and predictions to each other.

"I can't wait for the Christmas holidays!" Theodore snarled one evening, observing Harry and Blaise loudly debate how effective Finbar Quigley, notorious beater for the Ballycastle Bats and on loan to Puddlemere, would be in stopping the potent Magpies attack. "Get away from you Quidditch-nutters for a bit."

The holidays were, in fact, just a couple of days away.

The weather reflected this perfectly—the drafty corridors covered in sheets of snow, and running in the corridors quickly became a physical hazard, incredibly ill-advised.

Harry went to Quirrell one evening to learn the Tripping Jinx but the professor was in an incredibly foul mood, kicking Harry out, something about Harry being a lazy student, he'd said. He was convinced it had something to do with the Weasley Twins bewitching several snowballs so that they followed the professor around, bouncing off the back of his turban.

There was a proper, roaring whoosh sound around the castle, rattling their windows in the dormitories these days and even Malfoy had stopped mocking Harry about his staying at Hogwarts over the holiday, electing to duck under his covers as quickly as possible.

One morning, Harry woke up to find an empty dormitory.

He found Blaise lounging in the button-tufted sofa normally reserved for Quidditch players and popular blokes up in the Slytherin Dungeons.

"Oh good, you're up at last! Everyone's left already."

"What're you doing here?"

Blaise smirked. "I'm guessing you didn't bother taking a look at the list of students staying at Hogwarts?"

Harry shrugged, tucking in beside Blaise in the sofa. "Well, no—I figured everyone would be wanting to go see their families for the holidays…"

"My mother?…" Blaise laughed, shaking and Harry cocked a brow, lost as to just what was so funny. "Yo, that's actually mad jokes. Nah, I'm good here at Howgarts, thank you very much!"

It was odd: they had almost the whole of the Slytherin Dungeons to themselves. A couple of other Slytherins had remained behind for the holidays but they left Harry and Blaise well and truly alone.

They took to playing Wizarding chess and Exploding Snap to entertain themselves. It didn't take too long before the games began to bore the pair of them. Harry would've liked to go exploring but, like Blaise kept on reminding him, the Weasleys Twins were staying at Hogwarts for the holidays, as well.

By curfew Christmas Eve, however, Harry had finally reached breaking point—and so had Blaise.

"What're we going to do?" Blaise asked him as they emerged out of the Slytherin Dungeons.

Harry fastened his cloak on tighter, covering up his neck. "We're breaking into Filch's office."

Blaise gave a startled laugh. "No way! That's brilliant. Why, though?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, everyone's always going on about how my father was a proper trouble-maker back in the day—"

"Really? Who's said that?"

Harry waved his hand impatiently. "McGonogall—if you listen to Snape, though, my father's the worst sort of scoundrel imaginable—"

"You think he hates 'em more than he hates you?"

Harry gritted his teeth. "That's tough to call; let's just say he doesn't like the name of Potter!"

"Got that right!"

They'd arrived on the Ground Floor already and Harry pulled Blaise towards the Entrance Hall, knowing that Filch's office was tucked in at the end of that corridor.

"Alright!" Blaise said, his words followed by a mist in the bitter cold. "But what does breaking into Filch's office have to do with everybody saying your father was a troublemaker?"

Harry smirked, keeping his eyes trained on the Entrance Hall as they walked past.

"Filch has records of every student that has ever been at Hogwarts in a file—I want to nick my father's, I bet he won't even notice—"

Blaise snickered. "Of course not! There's got be thousands of records if what you're saying is true—"

"'Course, we've got to make sure we don't trip any alarms or anything he's got set up."

Blaise snorted as they gathered before Filch's door. "Bruv, be serious, what's he going to have for us? A mouse trap?"

Harry frowned tightly, rather lost. "Right…"

They stood there a few minutes, in front of the black wooden door, not speaking, just standing.

"Alohomora?"

Harry nodded and Blaise whipped out his wand.

A click sounded and then Blaise fisted his hand around the doorknob. It was dark in there, pitch-black, and all Harry's squinting in the dark didn't do him any good.

He brought out his wand. "Lumos!"

There was legit no change whatsoever to speak of in the room. The oil lamp gleamed as wet as ever, the filing cabinets hugged the walls as tight as ever, and the office smelled like fried fish.

"Well, I can't say I'm glad to be back…"

Blaise snorted. "Where d'you reckon your father's file is stored up?"

"I know they're sorted by surname, I saw that last time I was here—"

"What did Filch have you do, by the way?"

Harry didn't respond, heading to the nearest filing cabinet. It seemed to cover people with last names beginning with "A" all the way up to "E".

"That bad, huh?" Blaise chuckled.

It took them a good while finding his father's file. Filch had mountains of files stored. First off, they had to pinpoint exactly which filing cabinet had the files of people with the last name beginning with "P". It sounded straightforward, and it started off that way.

The filing cabinet after the first one had people with last names "F" to "K". But then, the next filing cabinet threw things off the rails, presenting them with people with last names "U" to "Z".

Organized, Filch was not, they were very disgruntled to discover.

What began as an exciting prospect quickly spiraled into a lagging chore. They grumbled and puffed with irritation as they rifled through several drawers and folders and files, growing more frustrated as the time steadily ticked on, flipping through filing cabinets and folders on their knees.

They finally found the filing cabinet for people with last names beginning with "P" but their woes had hardly ended. Turns out, there were loads of troublemakers with last name beginning with "P".

They had to sort through generations of Parkinson's, Patil's, Pettigrew's, a ridiculously long line of Peverell's, a lonely folder on Pince and Pomfrey and a rather stacked but lone file on Podmore—

And then, finally, Blaise made a cry of delight, waving a folder over his head as he jumped to his feet, dancing a little jig in jubilation. Harry grinned and hurried to his side, peering over his shoulder when his olive-skinned friend pried the folder open.

Henry Potter, it read.

Blaise sagged with disappointment.

"I should've realized—the Potters are an old family, after all. Bet we're going to be at this for a good while…" he said sadly, his head hung.

Harry gave him an odd look, watching him closely, realizing just how much more Blaise knew about Harry's own family.

It was tireless work.

They had to put Ralston Potter to the side after a while, though his story was incredibly winning, captivating. Ralston had spent loads of time defending his friends and what not, resorting to his wand far more quickly and often than he did words.

Abraham Potter's file was noticeably lighter, but they were all related in way or the other to exploring, especially the Forbidden Forest. Abraham was especially fascinated by the Forbidden Forest, it seemed; caught poking around at the edges over a dozen times over his seven year stay at Hogwarts, and even caught inside of the Forest four separate times.

Henry Potter's file was the lightest of the bunch, less than ten detentions to speak of. Harry snorted at that, considering he was already past ten detentions, he thought it was rather weak. And for standing up for your friends, no less.

Fleamont Potter's file was much more interesting. The name, itself, was rather amusing, and Harry couldn't bring himself to scold Blaise for sniggering when he, himself, had to squeeze his stomach to hold in his giggles.

His grandfather was apparently teased greatly for his odd name, and to counter that, he'd hurl curses and wind up in duels. It seemed to have worked out just alright, as well, because after his fifth year, Fleamont had no detentions whatsoever to speak of.

Blaise handed over a thick, fat file with parchments sticking out of the files and Harry nervously collected it from him. He breathed in a deep sigh and closed his eyes, turning over the page.

His name was scribbled across the top, almost illegible in it's messiness: James Potter.

His eyes began to lower across the page, drink in the contents, and that was just page one, imprint his photo onto his memory, his hair sticking in all directions, especially at the back, and they had similar… well, everything. Well, his eyes were hazel where Harry's were emerald green and his father's nose was slightly longer, Harry thought—

"Harry!"

He wasn't wearing glasses in this photo—

"Harry!"

But in the photo in that room on the fourth-floor corridor—

"Harry!"

That was odd!

"Harry! Did you hear that?!"

Harry slowly looked up from the folder, frowning softly. "What?"

Blaise was looking very panicked, his eyes flicking about the room, and he began creeping towards the ajar door and then suddenly, screeched to a stop, whirling about to face Harry, his eyes wide and his mouth open.

"It's Filch! Run!"

Harry gasped.

Blaise dashed before him, past the door and before his eyes, he whisked past, disappearing from his sight.

Harry stuttered for words, his mouth opening and closing hopelessly, his arms up in confusion. He glanced about the room, noting how the folders were strewn about, scattered about on the ground and his stomach shuddered and shook.

A meow sounded and it jerked him into action: he tossed the folder over his head and then took off into a run, winding past the ajar door, making sure to keep his head low and hooded especially when he saw a lamp flash on and yet another meow sounded.


	19. Happy New Year

Harry sighed, his head hung, his wrist going limp before the door.

It's not like he was all too surprised or shaken that Filch had spotted him or—if you listened to Blaise—guessed that it was him running away from his office.

Still, though, nobody really fancied spending Christmas evening in detention, he certainly didn't. Even if it was to be with Quirrell, probably learning spells. Especially since Quirrell didn't seem to be all that pleased with him these days, eyeing him moodily from the High Table lately.

And it had been a great day, as well: a brilliant begin, with fantastic presents.

He sighed again, rasping his knuckles against the doors.

The door clicked and swung open, leading him inside with a quiet creak.

It was darker than normal in there, a lone candle lighting up the room from Quirrell's desk, bringing his professor into view, complete with his turban and oddly enough, a tinge of sweat on his forehead.

Harry gulped, taking another step into the room and the door snapped shut behind him and he yelped, jumping, glancing away, massaging his neck softly as he tore his eyes away, feigning observing the room.

Nothing had changed, from the African tribal masks, to the human skulls, to the garlic smell—

Though, to be fair, it had been just the same when he'd last been here, just a week ago.

"So… back again?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose."

Not by choice, of course. He'd much rather prefer to be exploring the depths and secrets of the castle with the Invisibility Cloak someone had decided to grant him for Christmas.

"You're satisfied too quickly, Potter…"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, watching Quirrell rise out of his pillows and came to stand before him.

He stood, gaping, probably looking very foolish as Quirrell cupped his face in his hands, glancing deep into his eyes.

"They love you now, but how long will that last, do you think?"

Harry shook his head, wriggling his head free out of Quirrell's grasp. "They'll get tired of you one day, they'll realize you're not one of them, and they'll turn on you—"

"No, they won't—"

"Then what, Potter?"

"They wouldn't do that!" He was shaking his head in denial, clamping his hands over his ears.

"So naive!" Quirrell snorted, and it was pitying, so mocking, that Harry felt his hands lower and he turned to face Quirrell peering at him sadly, shaking his head at Harry almost in sympathy. "Believe me, Potter—a time will come when you will be prey once again—"

"It can't be, Flint said—"

"Not now, oh no, no, no—you're too valuable to the Quidditch Team, aren't you? But what happens when you lose a match? What happens when your heroics aren't quite enough—"

"Flint wouldn't let that—"

"After all the criticism he's already had to take—"

"I won him the match—"

"But you're still Harry Potter!"

The words slapped him, and took the wind out of him, leaving him sagged. "You'll need to know how to use your wand, Potter!"

Harry didn't look at him, glaring into the ground, his lips tight and set in a mutinous frown.

"Take out your wand, it's time you landed back in "detention". Let's see what you've learnt this semester, yes?"

There was a foreboding tone to his words and Harry felt himself frowning as he glanced up and it suddenly widened as his body tightened, stretching his body and he pushed his weight to the side, jumping out of the path of a purplish-red streak of light that he recognized as the Knockback Jinx.

He was still gaping, blinking furiously as an orange flash of light zipped past him, stinging his cheek, and he squeaked in alarm.

Quirrell lowered his wand, smirking at Harry. "Well… aren't you going to defend yourself? Or have you already forgotten how to cast a spell?"

Harry sneered, whipping out his wand but it was too late: a blinding white ray of light had him squinting as the light exploded and crackled into showers of light and his arms suddenly snapped together as he went rigid.

Before he could even properly register that he'd seen the spell used before somewhere, he was swaying where he stood and then fell flat on his face and he scowled darkly, opening his mouth to rant—

He huffed internally, finding his jaw also jammed together.

So much for "holidays"! Bloody Quirrell!

* * *

"That's right: I'll be going to be watching the League Final," Harry was saying loudly, beaming brightly at Weasley's pulled face as he sullenly poked at his meal, moving his food about on his plate.

Harry had never been more grateful for Dumbledore insisting on this 'get rid off all the House tables in the holiday period business' and have just one table for all, professors and students.

To be fair, there were less than twenty students left at Hogwarts for the holidays and even less present for the dinner.

But it was doing wonders for needling Weasley right now, he saw much to his amusement.

"Yeah—how much did the ticket cost again?" Blaise asked airily.

Harry shrugged, stretching for a goblet. "Oh, just hundred and seventeen galleons—VIP Box Seven, you know, one of the best boxes available—"

"Oh, really?"

Harry nearly choked on his pumpkin juice, caught off guard by Blaise laying it on, very thick.

He wiped at his mouth, struggling to keep his laughter in, especially as he caught the Weasley Twins holding their forks very tight, almost bending it.

"Yes, quite so—the Flint's will be there, as well; practically the whole of the Slytherin Quidditch Team, in fact—"

"You are aware, of course," Dumbledore cut in with an easy smile from the top of the table, his beard twitching and his eyes sparkling brightly behind his half-moon spectacles, "that under-age students cannot leave the school premises without the explicit consent of their guardians. I sincerely hope that ticket does not go to waste, Mr. Potter, a hundred—"

"But sir—"

"Blaise, please…!" Harry chuckled at the delighted expressions on Weasley and his Twin brothers' faces. They were whooping and high-fiving each other, giggling and pointing at them.

He struggled to remain calm and remember the plan as he slowly went into his back pocket. Forks fell into plates as all around the table, eyes observed him pull out a parchment. "Aha!" He smirked as he swaggered past Weasley and his Twin brothers, enjoying their sharp confusion though the sight of their Prefect brother looking incredibly bored brought him up short.

Dumbledore inspected the parchment over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

"What is it, Albus?"

Professor McGonagall rose to her feet, frowning tightly. She took brisk steps to round Dumbledore's side, holding the parchment in his outstretched arm for her to read over his shoulders. She didn't have all that much walking to do, after all, she was seated to Dumbledore's right, she literally just rounded the corner.

"I see…" Harry made sure to smoothen his expression, not look too cheeky or smug whilst he bade a silent word of thanks to Moony for getting the Dursleys to sign off on this so quickly. The man had somehow managed to receive his Owl, get the parchment signed off by the Dursleys, and Owl him back, all in under twenty-four hours. "I hope you arranged a method of transportation, Mr. Potter…?"

Harry nodded, turning to give Weasley a quick, cheeky wink. Weasley's face dropped in disappointment, looking to his brothers, aghast.

"Oh, yes, the Flint's sent me a Portkey this morning—"

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Good, what time will you be leaving?"

"In about an hour, actually."

She glanced up from the permission slip in her hands, blinking furiously at Harry. Dumbledore was frowning lightly at Harry in his seat.

"This is rather short notice, Mr. Potter—" she trailed off as Dumbledore's hand rose unto the sky.

"If his guardians have granted him permission, there is nothing we can do… A professor must be present, of course, at the moment of the Portkey going off—"

"But of course… sir!" Harry finished hastily, beaming brightly at the snarling Weasley Twins and Weasley.

* * *

Harry hurriedly pushed to his feet, dusting himself off, cursing Blaise!

He'd landed in the middle of a large stretch of moor, he saw, letting his head swing about. There were people—easily in the thousands—doing a little spin, and a crack would sound and where they stood would be nothing but a wispy cloud of dust that was gone in seconds.

He knew of Apparation but seeing it before his eyes was still mind-blowing.

Salesmen were Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There were luminous rosettes—blue and golden for Puddlemere, white and black for the Magpies—which were squealing the names of the players, pointed navy-blue hats bedecked with crossed golden bulrushes, black and white robes adorned with goal posts with a Magpie standing on the goal in the middle with Magpie scrawled across the post and the Magpie actually screeched—

Flags from both teams that played their motto's as they were waved; there were tiny models of broomsticks that really flew—even though it hardly got off the ground—and collectible figures of famous players, which strolled across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.

Harry didn't know where to look or what to buy—he was heading towards the rosettes, then the pointed Puddlemere hats caught his attention and he'd almost gotten to the salesmen, bringing his hand out to catch the attention of the salesmen when the flags caught his attention and before he could even take a step in that direction, he saw the collectible figure of Joscelind Waddock—record-holder for the most goals in the British and Irish Quidditch League—and he threw his arms into the sky, giving a cry of frustration.

"What's this?"

Harry whirled about with a frown, recognizing Flint's laughter easily.

It wasn't just his Captain—Lucian and Pergerine were smirking down at him, Bletchley was shaking his head at Harry in disappointment and tut-tutted.

"Why did we invite him again?"

"Makes more sense than why you're here: you can't save a Quaffle to save your life!"

Lucian and Pergerine 'oooooh'd' loudly and began shoving each other, guffawing loudly and pointing at Bletchley. Harry saw Flint glance away sharply, but not fast enough for Harry not to catch his amused smile.

Bletchley snarled. "Plays one game and gets all big-headed—"

"Well, I'm sure it's an odd concept to you but I actually played well, so—" Lucian and Pergerine snorted, embracing each other as they descended into the giggles.

Bletchley took a step towards Harry, who immediately tensed, his backfoot sliding forward into a stance—

"Oi…!" Flint chuckled, holding eye-contact with Bletchley, his hand on his chest. "Not here, you hear? You hear me?"

A gong went off followed by excited, jubilant screams.

Bletchley closed his eyes, his face strained and then gave a sharp nod. He slapped Flint's hand off of his chest and stalked off ahead of them, heading towards the huge crowd—there had to be thousands of them—stamping their foots, collecting a cloud of dust as they went, pumping their fists into the skies as they roared out the lyrics to "Beat Back Those Bludgers, Boys, and Chuck that Quaffle Here": Puddlemere's anthem.

His face stretched into a wide smile and his head began bobbing up and down according to the tune, and he broke into a skip, following the lantern-lit trail after the singing and shouting and laughing Puddlemere supporters. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious.

Flint and the Beaters caught up to him about fifteen minutes later in the shadow of a massive stadium, binoculars of some sorts dangling around their necks. Harry couldn't even see the whole stadium, it towered over him, enveloping him in a huge shadow, leaving his jaw gaping and his head going every which way.

"Seats hundred thousand—"

"Really?"

Pergerine nodded, not even looking at Harry, scanning the stadium for himself, looking rather impressed with it, himself. As was Lucian.

"Not all that shocking—this is where England play their home games, after all."

Flint was rubbing his temple at them, looking quite irritated. "Yeah, just go on staring, lads, drink it all in, not like we have seats absurdly high in the sky to climb up to… Or friggin' Omniculars to look at all this later!"

Harry blinked as a pair of those binoculars things started swinging before his eyes. Flint gave him a flat look after a couple of seconds.

"Yeah, that's a bril idea; don't take the Omniculars, why not? Just throw my coin back in my face."

Harry flushed and hurriedly grabbed at the Omniculars.

Flint sighed, shaking his head. "Alright, lads, follow me—Top Box! Prime seats, best seats in the house. And Potter, be on your best behaviour, can't have you embarrassing me!"

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in blinding golden with blue streaks fitted in here and there. They clambered up the staircase, hearkening to Flint's hissing voice whenever one of them almost followed another party in exiting through doors—into the stands, apparently—on their left and right.

Flint wheezed, shaking his head in disgust, climbing on. "Honestly, acting like you've never been to a Quidditch game in your life!"

Harry flushed, ducking his head and scurried after Lucian and Pergerine, who were already beginning on what he hoped was the last staircase.

"Bloody hell, Merlin above, what a climb!" Harry whispered under his breath, wiping at his forehead, his chest rising and falling heavily.

Flint's scowl was stern as he shook his head at Harry, directing him to his seat. "Tired already, Potter?" He tutted.

Harry rolled his eyes, refusing to acknowledge his Captain. Instead, he chose to look around.

Flint had brought them to a small box, set at the very highest point of the stadium, right in the middle of the goalposts. About twenty blue-and-gilt chairs stood, waiting on them. The front row was already occupied, and Harry very easily recognized the one in the front, arching an elegant brow at Harry.

How could he not? Such distinct white-blonde didn't just turn up by accident.

"Well, well, well… Harry Potter…"

Harry gulped. He could feel Flint's orbs burning into his scalp with more intensity as the seconds passed. Lucian went forward and gave a very low bow, followed by Pergerine and then Flint; Malfoy's father simply nodded at them, rattling off their names and dismissing them like one would swat an insect with his backhand.

Harry found himself before Malfoy Senior, and forced a smile that he wasn't feeling towards the father of Malfoy. He was just about to jut out a hand towards him when the man pushed to his feet.

Harry hurriedly arched his back, going into a bow, his cheeks going crimson as he imagined how silly he probably looked.

A flashing light suddenly caught his attention and he traced it back to Mr. Malfoy clutching a very striking walking stick, coated in shiny black lacquer, and at the top of the stick was a silver snake's head, it's green crystal eyes glinting.

Mr. Malfoy cleared his throat and Harry quickly peeled his eyes away, blinking furiously at the man.

Mr. Malfoy nodded at him, his face stretching into a pleasant smile that looked rather odd on his face.

"Like my walking stick, do you?"

Harry blanched and Malfoy Sr. simply chuckled, twirling it about in the night sky, admiring it and Harry's eyes glossed over it hungrily. "Malfoy family heirloom, you know—goes all the way back to 1675, with Brutus Malfoy, of course. My father, Abraxas Malfoy, passed it on to me… and I will, of course, be passing it on to Draco…"

Harry felt a roaring fire, burning pangs prickle his stomach and his throat had gone dry all of a sudden.

"You know Draco, don't you, Potter?"

Harry swallowed with difficulty, struggling to maintain eye-contact. "We're in the same house…"

A rather familiar smirk overcame his face and he nodded. "Yes, indeed, you are. I hope you enjoy the match, Harry Potter—I hear you're fairly gifted on the broomstick…"

Harry did his best to smoothen his face but he wasn't sure he succeeded, catching a sparkle go off in his grey eyes.

"Yes, well…" He gave a shrug and gestured vaguely in the direction of Flint and the rest of his teammates, who were staring straight ahead, munching on some Cauldron Cakes.

Malfoy bowed his head slightly, leaning against his walking stick and sank back down into his seat.

Harry was far from done, unfortunately for him.

Malfoy's wife didn't take too much of time, simply sneering at him after he stared at her limp wrist carefully and delicately placed in his palm, quite clueless on what he was supposed to do.

Next was this guy with short grey hair with neat parting, almost unnaturally straight quite honestly. He also had a narrow toothbrush moustache. He shook Harry's hand briefly, shooting to his feet.

"Nice to meet you, Potter! Our world owes you!" He sounded like he was reading a script, but there was a severe look about him that stopped Harry from voicing his thoughts.

And on it went.

Finally, there was a blue-eyed, blonde bloke with quite the potbelly who enthusiastically shook his hand, and thanked him profusely for offing "You-Know-Who." He was also very vocal about being able to get Harry into some of the best summer Quidditch training camps if Harry wanted it, he only needed to Owl—after all, "being Head of the Department of Sports and Games is got to have its perks, and I was also a Beater, you know, for the Wasps, led 'em to three straight titles".

Harry sunk into his seat with a sigh, right smack between Flint and Lucian, Bletchley on Lucian's side on the edge of the group and Pergerine on Lucian's side, on the other edge of the group.

"Didn't give out any autographs, Potter?" Bletchley's voice was snotty and heavy with envy.

Harry rolled his eyes and turned to face him, absentmindedly plucking a Cauldron Cake from the basket at Flint's feet.

"Didn't have any quills on me, innit."

The rest of them tittered at that, nibbling on the Cakes as time whiled on.

Flint began coughing on his cake, shuddering and quivering. He slapped away all their help, and just in time, too: Pergerine's aim had been true for his back. "Back off; look there," he pointed into the crowd of about fifty-thousand people taking their places in the seats, risen in levels around the long oval field.

"At what?"

Harry nodded, asking himself the same question Bletchley had voiced.

"Diggory!... Don't you see him?!" Flint sounded frustrated and his wand was shaking and he began jabbing at the very same spot, harder and more deliberate now but still, Harry couldn't make out Diggory.

Of course, it probably had a fair bit to do with the fact that he didn't know _who_ Diggory was.

Or perhaps, the mysterious golden light that seemed to originate from the stadium, itself, accompanied by a droning hum. It was quite a sight from their lofty position, very high up in the sky: most of the spectators were situated closer to the ground than to them, and to Harry, they looked like specs of dirt, dots.

The field, itself, looked smooth as velvet and Harry quickly thought back to the Quidditch field at Hogwarts and cringed. At either end of the field stood three goal posts, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at Harry's eye level, was a gigantic blue blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant hand were scrawling upon it and then wiping it off again; watching it, Harry realized that it was flashing advertisements across the field.

The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family - safe, reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burgler Buzzer ... Mrs. Shower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain! ... Gladrags Wizardwear - London, Paris, Hogsmeade...

"Ladies and gentlemen…" the voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands, and Harry furiously glanced about, wondering where it was coming from. "Welcome! WELCOME to the final of the three-hundred and seventeenth League Cup!"

The spectators screamed and clapped, even Flint and his teammates, and so Harry joined them with an ear-splitting grin, despite the likes of Malfoy Senior remaining reserved and clapping politely. Not even when that severe bloke who'd shaken his hand turned in his seat to raise a brow at him did Harry feel even an ounce of shame, his blood streaming through his veins with pace and his cheeks flush with color.

The Puddlemere flag took to the sky, waving and dancing under the beautiful velvet sky, adding to the racket and people waved jerseys of Puddlemere players, Joscelind Wadcock's was everywhere and Harry glanced into the ground, vowing to himself that before he returned to Hogwarts, he'd get himself one of them.

He snorted, poking Flint with his elbow and pointing at a couple of brave of Magpie supporters that were waving jerseys of the Campbell brothers, and screaming themselves hoarse, barely making a dent.

Flint chortled heartily, shaking in his seat. "Puddlemere's home for a good reason, laddie, not a bat's gonna hear ya!" He cackled.

The huge blue blackboard was wiped clear of its last message (Honeydukes—Thinking of the Next Mouthful) and now showed Puddlemere: 0, Magpies: 0.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce… Puddlemere United!"

The stadium exploded with screams and applause, the skies danced with the blue and gold of Puddlemere and the very stadium seemed to be vibrating and shaking.

A cannon sound went off and right before Harry's very eyes, a great rift appeared in the field and the players burst out of the ground led by Benjy Williams, clutching a gleaming and glinting golden sword that clashed spectacularly with the silver broomsticks that he was riding on.

"Benjyyyyyyyyy Willlllllliaaaaaams!"

Suddenly, the skies were overtaken by the raspy chatter and screech that belonged to the Magpie and the flapping sound joined in and Harry felt his jaw drop open as a mischief of magpies suddenly appeared in the sky.

Benjy Williams was in top form, he drove his sword back and slashed through the sky and one of the birds burst into feathers, free-falling to the ground, and the stadium exploded with roars of cheers and applause. The crowd egged the players on with their cheers and screams and in less than a minute, the ground was littered with dead Magpies and feathers.

Benjy Williams was hovering before the right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of blue and gold, slashing with his sword through the sky and punching into the sky.

The very stadium seemed to be vibrating and shaking and for a moment, as the Puddlemere faithful ooohed and aaahed and Harry worried the field was going to give in or something.

But then, Benjy Williams turned away and headed their way, stopping just before them and then he slashed with his sword and then lifted up his sword, and it obviously cost him effort for Harry could see his chest going up and down and a tinge of sweat on his nose—

But it was stirring and Harry couldn't keep his twitching legs down anymore and shot to his feet and screamed his approval and next to him, Flint did the same and his teammates and they imitated Benjy Williams as he performed the move once more: slash, jab, carry the sword into the sky.

Harry was still breathing heavy long after Benjy Williams and the rest of the Puddlemere players had gathered on the grass of the field, his skin tingling and hair still standing on end.

He looked to Flint, also breathing heavy next to him and smiled. Flint returned the smile and they both sank into their seats.

"And now, please greet—the Montrose Magpies!"

Seven black-and white blurs swept onto the field. The place was overrun with angry yells and hissing and people wagged their fingers, spitting at the Magpies players as they did a couple of laps.

"Aaaaaand—Lennox Campbell!"

"Merlin, we didn't even hear the rest of the team!"

Harry winced at the "boooooooooo!" that rained over the announcement of Lennox Campbell. The Seeker had had a fantastic season, dragging the Magpies to the Finals despite the shoddy play from his Chasers, winning twenty-three games on his own (catching the Snitch and erasing a deficit of hundred and forty points for the win). Last time these two outfits had taken to the Quidditch pitch, Campbell had caught the Snitch after ninety minutes and Puddlemere had lost the game as a result, even though they'd been completely dominating last year's champions, leading them by a hundred-and-thirty points.

Lennox Campbell had a cheeky smile on his face as the crowd poured on the boo's, and he even took it a step further: waving at the crowd.

"Bruv, Campbell's not likely to get outta here with his limbs intact the way he's going at it…"

Harry thought Flint was probably on to something, spotting several people being held back by others who looked like they were about to dive from a springboard, and some had even gotten further: their legs resting on the legs of the walls they were contained inside of.

A portly witch with dreadlocks and a number of nose piercings, wearing robes of pure gold strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was hanging out of her mouth and she was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, her broomstick under the other.

Harry elbowed Flint in excitement, jumping in his seat. "That's the ref! That's the ref! It's about to tip off!"

"Oh, Merlin above, oh Merlin!" Flint was holding his head in his palms, his eyes bugging out.

"Puddlemere better win!" Lucian said, putting on his Omniculars.

Harry frowned, quickly following Lucian's example, that way he couldn't miss a second of the action.

A sharp blast of the whistle sounded and the referee shot into the air, right after the balls.

"Aaaaaaaand they're OFF!"


	20. Tying Loose Ends

Harry wiggled on his bed, rolled over onto his stomach and sighed.

The words echoed in his head, louder and louder and he groaned, burying his head into his pillow, shaking his head, faster and faster—

"I'm bored!" moaned Blaise, bringing an end to what had been a terribly slow Sunday: Harry, Blaise and Theodore just hanging out in their dormitories and quite honestly, doing nothing.

Harry sat up at those words, a delighted grin on his face as he pulled at his bed hangings and pushed out of his bed, rushing over to Blaise.

"Right?! We haven't done anything in forever…" Harry whined.

"Merlin above," Theodore stuck his head out of his bed, watching them with an incredulous look on his face. "You two better be jesting!"

Harry and Blaise exchanged a glance. "Well…"

"Yeah… can't do that, mate—"

Theodore slipped out of his bed and landed with a dull thud, forehead first and Harry winced for him. The wiry boy shot up to his feet almost immediately, his face scrunched up in obvious pain, massaging his forehead, throbbing a nasty red.

"What d'you mean we haven't done anything in a while?" Theodore spluttered, spite flying out of his mouth as he looked at them like they were barmy.

He struggled for words, opening and closing helplessly, like a fish stuck out of water, eyes wide, wincing as massaged his forehead. "I mean… I mean… hold on a second…" He turned around and made for his bed, jerking his bed hangings to the side and emerged a few seconds later with a newspaper in his hands—

"Does this mean nothing to you?" Theodore said, waving the paper over his head, looking demented with his eyes wide.

Blaise groaned, cupping his face in his hands, and Harry sighed, glancing to the ground.

Theodore gave the paper a dramatic ruffle and Harry and Blaise glanced at each other, rolling their eyes.

"Bodmin Moor Millenium Stadium was packed to the brim last night, overflowing with hordes of Puddlemere supporters who had come to see their team avenge that paralyzing defeat to the Magpies earlier in the season. Despite that all, it was nearly impossible not to notice an eleven-year old with a lightning scar screaming and celebrating as Puddlemere snagged their twenty-third League Cup. He had quite some reason to be so emotionally attached: all the analysts had given the advantage to Puddlemere, regardless, the masses worried that Lennox Campbell, on perhaps the greatest individual Seeker run in all of history, would burn the party to the ground before it even began—"

"Okay, Salazar's beard—breathe a little!" Harry massaged his temple.

"Yeah, take a breath of air, maybe…"

Theodore sniffed and folded his paper neatly, nose in the air. "I hope you, too, have realized just how impossible it is for you to be bored…"

Harry and Blaise exchanged a look and Harry glanced away, his lips twitching after seeing Blaise's frown.

"Uh… not really… I mean, first off—I wasn't at the League Cup final, was I? The fireworks, the "match of the decade", the pictures with Benjy Williams, I didn't get any of that—"

Theodore slammed his paper to the ground and Harry blinked in shock. "Yes, but—Harry's been telling us the story for two weeks—"

Blaise shrugged. "Exactly, and now it's gotten kind of boring—"

Harry blanched at that.

"Besides, I just want to go out and stretch my legs; it's a beautiful Sunday afternoon—"

Theodore harrumphed and purposefully glanced out the windows. It was a cloudy afternoon and there was the cackle of thunder in the distance that promised anything but great weather.

"I'm tired of being cooped up in here, mate. I mean, all we do outside of homework is listen to how Harry got his autograph from Benjy Williams, his jersey even—never mind that the blighter couldn't catch the Snitch—"

"Oi!" Harry protested.

Blaise raised up his hands. "I'm just saying…"

Theodore was shaking his head back and forth in strong disagreement. "This… I mean… League Cup final! League Cup final to enter the new year, we're set for the rest of the year, I reckon—"

"Again, that was just Harry who went—why aren't you badgering him instead, I wonder? I mean, he's the one who says he's bored and he actually went to the Final, as well…!"

Harry spluttered for an answer as Theodore turned to face him and he cast a quick, scandalized look at Blaise who simply shrugged back at him.

"What d'you have to say for yourself, Potter?"

Harry tried for a casual smile but Theodore didn't seem to be in that mood. "Uh… It was two weeks ago, you know…"

Theodore brought a hand up to rub his temple.

"Okay, look—if you come with us—"

"No!"

"I'll get you a book—"

"No!"

"But you love books—"

"I also love not being in detention—"

"We won't get caught—"

Theodore gave Harry a look that properly captured how unlikely that was. Harry had, after all, just that Thursday finally completed his detention session with Quirrell. Picked up a few more spells, as well.

"Okay, fine—we might get caught—"

"But it'll be loads of fun!"

Harry nodded, giving Blaise a relieved smile for finally joining in.

Theodore sighed, sinking into his bed. "What're you guys even going to do?"

Harry and Blaise gathered before Theodore's bed, Blaise wearing a promising smirk. "Glad you asked, Nott—see some few weeks ago, Harry and I… hold on, you're not going to rat us out, now, are you?"

Theodore's look was flat and insulted. "Yes, definitely, because that'll be so beneficial to me—might as well get this thing done as soon as possible so you two morons can leave me alone in peace, isn't it?"

Harry and Blaise blinked at each other, Harry wondering if he should be offended but in the end, just shrugged, figuring if Theodore was going to come along with them, it was worth it, regardless of the reasons.

"Well… So, in Filch's office, right, there are—"

"You want to break into Filch's office?" Theodore's voice was loud and incredulous and Harry, wide-eyed, glanced behind him to their dormitory door, which was thankfully, well-and-truly shut close.

"You could say that…" Harry said, holding out his hands placatingly, and Blaise was gesturing that Theodore should keep his volume down.

"It's not like we're doing it for laughs—"

Theodore snorted, folding up his arms on his chest, looking unimpressed. Harry glanced away, to hide a smile.

Blaise rolled his eyes, looking faintly amused. "Okay, fine—we're not doing it only for laughs—Potter here wants to know a bit more about his father's days here at Hogwarts. Have a heart, Nott—he just wants to know a bit more about his father, it's only natural—"

"Alright, fine, I'm coming!"

"Really? Brilliant!" Harry clapped his hands with a delighted smile, elbowing Blaise excitedly.

"Not so fast, you two—we need to plan this well; last time, Harry got caught and ended up stuck with Quirrell in detention, isn't it? I'm not letting that happen to me."

Harry shrugged. "I can respect that."

"Also, about this book—"

"Oh, come off it—"

"What?" Theodore's look was smug. "You said you'd get me a book—"

"What about that one I got you for Christmas? Cost me a fair bit, Blood Brothers: My—"

Theodore cleared his throat, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt all of a sudden. "Yes, lovely book—regardless, you said you'd get me yet another… So, stay true to your word and I'll accompany you guys later tonight—"

"Later tonight?!" Harry and Blaise both sounded incredulous.

Theodore sneered at them. "What? You thought I was going to give up my afternoon for this foolish adventure?"

Harry was lost for his words, hands held out, slack-jawed.

"So, let me get this straight, Harry has to buy you another book, and we're going to be planning how we do the infilt—well, the thing, yeah. This evening." Theodore nodded. And Blaise gave a heart chortle, slapping a scowling Harry on the back. "Sounds like a solid plan to me."

* * *

"Oi, Potter!"

Harry stilled, whirling about.

Theodore groaned, sounded frustrated and already irritated. "Oh, what's this already?"

Flint was walking towards him, Lucian and Pergerine were chilling with the rest of the Quidditch team back in the couches that were unofficially reserved for them, laughing and having a jolly good time.

Harry grind his teeth together. "Next time, I'm going under my own bloody Cloak—"

Tittering sounded and Harry huffed, whirling about with a few choice words on his lips for Blaise—

"Oi! What you doing?"

Harry forced a laugh and went in for a handshake, not even twitching when Flint's large hands crushed his little ones.

"Ouch!"

He scowled at Blaise's words of sympathy.

"Earth to Potter…"

Harry blinked at Flint, going for an-easy-going-smile.

"You alright? You're acting odd, you know…" Flint was frowning down at him in concern.

Harry laughed. "Me? No, I'm not, what're you talking 'bout?" He finished with a winning smile.

Flint was still frowning, though it was less pronounced. "You sure? You don't look too well…" He came closer, inspecting Harry like you'd inspect a frog under a microscope.

Harry laughed, slapping his hand away when Flint brought it to his cheek. "I'm fine, Flint, honestly," he laughed. "Stop worrying so much."

Flint grunted, giving a nod. He stepped back, giving Harry some run. "Training starts back up Monday evening… Don't get sick on me!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Silly me, thinking you actually cared for caring's sake…!"

Flint snorted, turning his back to Harry. "Don't be silly, Seeker Potter." He returned back to the team; Pucey and Lucian had started a game of Wizarding Chess, and the rest of them were watching, putting down some coin to who was going to emerge victorious (the two were notoriously bad at chess), with a small crowd peering on, limply holding onto their books.

Pergerine waved at Harry from inside the thick of things.

He considered returning the wave, or somehow giving a sign that he'd even clocked it—

But then, he was already out through the stone wall entrance and it slid behind him with a shuddering thump.

Harry sighed. "Well… that could've gone better."

A snort sounded that Harry was certain came from Blaise, and Harry glared into the darkness, rather sure he had guessed Blaise's location correctly.

"No, really, Potter," came a voice, thick with sarcasm. He felt a whack about his head, and began glancing about frantically, looking every which way, even drawing out his wand—

Cackling sounded, the cackling that came from genuine amusement, fully free of all types of concerns, echoing of the corridors in the dungeons as they climbed up to the Ground Floor.

And Harry slumped, sighing and cupping his head in his hands, dragging his feet across the corridor.

"Shhhh!"

"Honestly, I kid you not—you two morons are never getting my Cloak ever again!"

The laughter seemed to just increase in intensity, echo louder off the walls and even Theodore's frantic "Shh!" didn't do anything to help, it just seemed to get louder, until Blaise was legit gasping and wheezing for breath.

Blaise suddenly came into view a few steps in front of Harry, quivering with laughter, fumbling for Theodore or anything to hold onto for support.

"What makes you think there'll be a next time?"

They'd made it to the Ground Floor now, and thankfully, Blaise seemed to finally be getting a hold of himself. He fell in line beside Harry. "Why so worked up, guys? It's a beautiful night," he said, spreading his arms out into the chilly wind of the night, "we're out with friends instead of being stuck in the dormitory, Filch's about to get filched—"

"Oh, Merlin above, Blaise, I'll curse you if you don't shut your trap—"

"What's got you all wound up, honestly? That book wasn't good enough for you? Harry, how much'd it cost again?"

"Thirteen galleons—"

"Shhh!"

Blaise burst into laughter. "What's the matter? Harry here spent his cold coin on you and now you're—"

"Shh—"

"You can't shush me—"

"Prefects, you git!"

It was funny, actually.

Both Harry and Blaise both went stiff, and glanced into each other's eyes, wide-eyed. Harry could feel a dripple of sweat trickle off his left ear and he could actually swear, he heard the sweat splatter against the ground and echo.

He couldn't be sure if it was his heart beating against his chest or a machine that some random bloke had decided to place beside them that was whirring mad loud.

He tried to swallow and remind himself that being nervy was daft, and was probably more likely to get you caught, but it was as if his body couldn't hear him anymore—

"What the—Theo, are you joking?"

Harry gave a windy laugh, his eyes going about the place jittery "Very funny, Theo; stop the games, honestly…" He laughed, slow and long, feeling a heavy dread fall over him as silence remained over them.

"Theo…?"

"Theo?" Blaise sounded worried now, as well, his eyes trailing across the walls and the darkness, finally landing on Harry, and Harry thought he saw raw distress, confusion, unease staring back at him—

"Who goes there?"

"Students outta bed!"

"Some house boutta lose hella points!" A deep, manly laugh echoed off the walls.

Harry stiffened, shaking his head as he imagined the scenes in Slytherin if he got caught out—

Flint's furious expression, Snape's pasty white face looking like mouldy white bread—

He could hear the footfalls now, drumming against the ground, growing louder and sounding faster and faster in tempo—

"They're running," Blaise hissed, hugging the wall tightly—

"You think?!" Harry snapped, his chest rising and falling heavily, fumbling for support against the wall.

He took a step back, pushing against the wall and then another, and then another; turning around and made to begin his run for escape—

Suddenly, a darkness washed over him and he was blinking and gasping heavily—

And then a weight clasped around his mouth. "Shhh!"

He could hear the fidgeting and muffling, and his eyes were twitching as his eyes adjusted to the lights again—

Blaise was shaking his head, twitching and shaking and kicking and Theodore was doing his all to hold him still but Harry could see it wide as day in his eyes, Theodore didn't believe he could do it.

He made forward but before he'd even completed a step, Blaise's eyes blinked open and he sagged as Theodore's index finger shot up to his lips, commanding him to be quiet.

"Detention!"

The prefects rounded the corner, chest rising and falling and panting accordingly, but they—both of them, they wore this sardonic, cruel smile, pulling their faces to one side.

Harry frowned, trying to place them: he had short hair, Harry thought it was dark, it was that typical dark hair that dark-skinned blokes had, and he had a Pride scarf hanging around his neck, scouring the area with a disappointed scowl.

And the girl… Harry blinked, he thought he recognized her.

Her hair was short and messy and spiky, and Harry even thought some of it to be orange and her eyes were a very distinct violent. Her black combat boots jutted out from under her robes to complete the image of a cold, scowling Slytherin prefect.

In other bad news, she was staring right at him, almost as if she could see him perfectly—

As if the Invisibility Cloak didn't exist at all for her—

She took a step towards him, and another and then another and—

"Hey!" The other prefect grabbed her arm, spinning her around. "Hey. Hey. Merula!"

The girl finally peeled her eyes away from Harry, her face scrunched up. She turned her head around, her hands going to her hips, going contra post. "What is it, Andre, hmm?"

"What're you doing? There's obviously nobody here…"

Harry felt his insides loosen and he sagged with relief, grinning at an equally-relieved looking Blaise. Theodore was shaking his head at them very slowly, his eyes insistent and severe.

"How can you be sure? I feel something, they're here, Egwu… They're here…" She'd turned around again and was staring straight at Theodore now.

Harry couldn't breathe, he was holding in his breath so hard that his stomach ached.

The boy—Egwu, or was it Andre?—he chuckled and threw an arm around the girl, steering her away, and she went away with him, only a little frown and her narrowed eyes even hinted that she still suspected that they were there, somehow out of sight.

They remained silent for a while, leaning against each other, even long after both prefects had rounded the corridor and had left.

An owl hooted, and the flapping of wings sounded, the cool 'whoosh' of the wind passed by—

"So… are we going to do the thing…?"

Harry couldn't help it: he broke down into full-on laughter. Before long, he was writhing on the ground as the giggles seized him, gasping and panting and coughing for breath.

"Have you gone mad? I don't see what's so funny."

Theodore seemed terribly displeased with Harry, and really, he realized he probably shouldn't be laughing when he'd very nearly been caught and lost Slytherin an unthinkable number of points—

"Hey, we got away with it, didn't we?" Harry said with a shrug.

Blaise smiled, wagging his brows at Harry and giving Theodore an elbow in the ribs. "That we did, that we did! That's the spirit! What a night, eh? We get those files and tonight will have—"

"No, wait, hold on—don't tell me, you two are still planning on going through with this ridiculous plan?"

Harry and Blaise frowned at each other.

"Well now, hold on—I already paid thirteen galleons for your book—"

"Yeah, and besides—why stop now? I mean, we can't 'almost get caught' twice, innit..."

Harry nodded his head in agreement. "Fair point: it's probably smooth sailing from here on out, you know."

Theodore was shaking his head, his eyes twitching. "That makes no sense—we've gotten a clear sign that we could very easily get caught—"

"No, we've gotten a clear sign that we can't get caught because we have an Invisibility Cloak…"

Blaise was nodding like Harry remembered people nodding at church service back in Surrey.

"That's just—that's stupid, that's literally the daftest thing I've ever heard—"

"Wow, Theo, thanks for your kind words," Harry said, putting his hands upon his heart mockingly.

"You're welcome," Harry rolled his eyes, "listen—I'm going back to the dormitories, where it's safe and I'm not losing Slytherin any House points or risking being found out and murdered by Merula Snyde—"

"Who?"

Theodore turned to face Harry, looking puzzled. Blaise just looked like he couldn't believe he was actually looking at Harry.

"You don't know who Merula Snyde is?"

Harry shook his head. "No… Should I?"

Blaise snorted. "Probably, yeah! Mate, she's Slytherin—seventh year, really powerful and bullies firsties and other House people for fun, apparently…"

"Wow… what a peach."

Theodore nodded. "More the reason why we should head back to our dormitories—it's been fun, we survived a death-scare, didn't get caught, let's not push our luck—"

"Nah, piss off, Theo—you agreed to this, so you're going through to the end—"

Theodore harrumphed, rising to his full height, just about taller than Blaise. "You can't make me—"

Blaise dug into his pocket, fumbling, cursing and finally, he had his wand clasped tightly in his palm but Theodore had his out, as well—

Blaise sneered at him. "D'you even know any spells?"

Theodore pushed his foot out, aiming his wand at Blaise. "Do you?!"

Blaise glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye, his wand arm falling slightly, lowering—

"Listen, Theo—I paid cold coin to have you join us here tonight… We're going till the end…"

"Excellent."

Harry chuckled at the contrast between Theodore's scowl and Blaise's beam.

It was a quiet journey, slinking past the corridors to Filch's office. Nobody seemed to have anything to say, even Blaise. Perhaps because when he tried to hum, Theodore silenced him ruthlessly. They dragged their feet through the cold wind, and by the time they arrived before his office, their teeth were chattering.

"Bloody hell—"

"Nott, you're a shitty planner, how didn't you see this coming?"

Theodore didn't even respond verbally, letting his flinty stare do all the talking for him.

Harry hurriedly dug out his wand and seconds later, the door clicked open and swung open with a creak.

"Alright—Theo, stay by the door, keep a lookout, yeah?"

They surged into the room, still strongly smelling of fish, dimly lit by the dangling oil lamp (Harry could swear it hung lower now than it did on his most recent visit)—

"Lumos!" Blaise lit up the room and Harry grinned widely as the light poured over his face.

"Bril!"

He made a beeline for the cabinet with people beginning with "P", going to his knees and drawing out the files.

"Wow, no wasting time this time around, huh?"

Harry tossed the file over his shoulder, reading the name Perseus Parkinson, some bloke from like the 1700's.

"Nah, I can't afford to get detention again, Quidditch is back on, initt—Flint'd absolutely murder me."

Blaise made a non-committal grunt.

"Aha!"

"Found it?"

He had.

Harry pulled out the file, holding it up delicately like a father held up his baby, frowning as he noted how rumpled it was. It was also rather loaded, parchments threatening to slip out of it as Harry held it up, and he quickly decided to inspect it more in depth in the safety of his dormitory.

He gathered the file and placed it upon Filch's table, fisting his wand determinedly.

"You know the spell?" Blaise asked, watching attentively.

Harry nodded. "THEO?! Everything okay out there?"

It took a few seconds but soon enough, Theodore came back just to nod at Harry and then disappeared again, wearing a moody scowl.

Harry cleared his throat.

"Discrim eres!" He waved his wand, dragging it across the file as he pronounced the words.

A cloud of smoke rose up, dancing and sashaying out of the folder and Harry and Blaise each took a step back, waiting till the cloud converged in the sky.

An odd hiss sounded then, and the cloud crackled and shuddered, diverging once more into four separate clouds of darkness and Harry rose his hands, groping about in the darkness—

"Ah!"

His eyes watered as a shooting pain shoot up his foot from his knee connecting against a wooden object—he quickly realized it was Filch's desk—and he began jumping on the spot, biting his tongue to keep his whimpers in—

"Woahhhh!"

The clouds of darkness had cleared up now and an identical file lay next to the original. Blaise moved forward, picked it up, flipped it open and skimmed over it really quickly. He turned to Harry, wagged his brows at him with a smile.

"Did it work?"

"Come see!"

Harry walked up next to him, and Blaise handed him the file, he brought up the original and inspected them side-by-side.

He nodded to himself, delighted with the results: True, the ink was fainter with the copy, but with a bit of guesswork, Harry was certain he could recreate the original.H

Harry shut the file and tucked it under his arm, gesturing to Blaise that they should head out.

"You know, this spell is genius—I reckon we could get all the files from Filch's office—"

"We're not going back in there! Ever!" They were outside the door and Theodore hovered over them, arms crossed over his chest.

Blaise sighed, turning to face Theodore with a strained smile. "Why, hi, Theo, didn't see you there—"

"Blaise's got a point, you know—imagine having all sorts of dirt on everyone at Hogwarts—"

"Exactly!" Harry smiled at the excitement reflecting back at him in Blaise's golden orbs.

"Am I the only one who remembers that we nearly got caught?"

But nobody was listening to Theodore.

Blaise elbowed Harry, wearing a mischievous smile. "I bet Merula has some things in her past that she doesn't want anybody to find out…"

They sniggered to themselves, suggesting increasingly ridiculous people to look up. "Wonder what Dumbledore was like as a student…"

"You think he got detention loads?"

Theodore snorted, the first time he'd made a sound since they'd left Filch's office; they'd just returned back to the dungeons.

"That's unlikely—he's Headmaster, remember, and Chief Warlock—"

"Yeah, but I mean, look at how he dresses—"

Blaise was nodding accordingly. "A man like that definitely got into one or two scuffles in his day—"

"I think it's highly unlikely that Dumbledore would be a troublemaker—"

"I think it's highly likely—"

Theodore looked frustrated and irritated by Blaise's words. "How does a troublemaker end up becoming Headmaster? If you would just think—"

"Dunno, Harry's detention record is abysmal—"

"Oi!" Harry protested.

Blaise shrugged. "Just stating the facts. Either way, he's still top five in the class, isn't he?"

Theodore harrumphed. "That's different!"

Blaise shared a look with Harry and they both smiled.

The common room was empty when they arrived and they didn't dawdle long, their teeth chattering in the biting cold brought upon by the fireplace, which had been put out.

Crabbe and Goyle's snores greeted them when they pushed the door to their dormitory open, and they held a quick, whispered debate on whether to check out the file now—

"In the morning!"

The snores stopped suddenly.

Theodore's eyes went wide and his head reared back, and then he dashed to his bed, not doing all too fantastic with keeping his volume down, crashing into his bedpost and his nightstand.

Harry and Blaise winced on his behalf, and Harry saluted Blaise, "Goodnight," tucking in for the night, his stomach tight with anticipation for what type of answers the morning will bring about his father.


	21. The Common Denominator

Gryffindor.

Gryffindor, wasn't he?

That was like the only thing Harry knew for certain.

Oh, and he and Moony had been mates.

Oh, wait, hadn't McGonogall told him that his Dad was brilliant at Transfiguration?

They were actually quite alike—

Harry glanced up as he felt poking in his stomach, insistent, repetitive. Blaise's eyes seemed to be screaming at him, fire dancing in there.

The whole class was staring at him, eyes boring into him, eyes shining brightly. Harry jerked his head around, frowning in confusion.

Snickers broke out then, he could see Malfoy bent over, snorting, exchanging fist bumps with Pike, and laughing—

Ravenclaws, too: this bloke with dark hair fell out of his desk laughing—

"Mr. Potter…" Flitwick held Harry's eyes, wearing a sympathetic smile. "The hand-movement for the Locking Spell…?"

Harry blinked at the professor, his mind quite simply blank. He closed his eyes, teeth gritted as he tried to cast his mind back but all he could see in his mind were folders, parchments stacked up, threatening to break out of the folder—

"Mr. Goldstein?"

A last wave of laughing sounded and Harry flushed, pressing his face into his desk once more. "Can't wait for that stupid bell to go off…" Blaise snorted.

It had been like that the whole day, Harry struggling to pay attention in class. Every second, his mind trailed off back to the copy version of his father's file underneath his bed right at this very moment.

He longed to sprint out of the classroom, down the staircase, to the Dungeons and grab the folder, read his father's story for himself… Learn about his father…

He had so many questions.

So many.

He'd hoped to get a chance to look at the folder in the morning before breakfast but his body had let him down, he'd woken up so late that he'd even had to skip breakfast.

He'd even tried to skip class—but then Theodore reminded him that they had Potions first and Harry really didn't need any more detentions, especially with Quidditch training scheduled for later tonight.

Harry would've fought on, but Malfoy and his mates showed up in the dormitory just then, so Harry had just resigned himself to having to check out the file later that day.

His legs seemed to be vibrating and twitching and he fidgeted in his seat, glancing out the window, drumming his fingers against the desk, leaning against his palm—

The bell went off, and Harry shot out of his desk, gathered his things and before Flitwick had even clambered down from his stack of books, Harry dashed out of the classroom, heading for the dormitories.

Whispers followed him, people questioning his state of mind. Harry even made out Bletchley walking with some others, shaking his head as Harry went past. "I reckon he's lost it."

"No running in the corridors, Potter!" Farley reminded Harry sourly.

But Harry didn't even slow down, turning the corner and running on. He made out a cloud being formed as he moved, his chest going up and down as he panted with exhaustion.

He looked about in confusion when he got to the Common Room, surprised to see so many people already in there—classed had just ended after all!

Flint nodded at Harry, a genuine smile on his lips, bringing his fanged teeth into focus. "See you later out on the pitch, Potter!"

Harry smiled, gave a wave and made his way to the dormitories.

He took his time pulling the file out from under his, the last thing he needed was for the parchments to end up out of order. He spread them out delicately across his bed, and then picked up the first one.

He drank it in, his brow flying up as he gathered new information.

He gasped when he found out his father had topped his Transfiguration class throughout his time at Hogwarts. Harry smiled at that, telling himself at that moment that he'd always top his class in Transfiguration, as well.

Harry glanced behind him, startled, as the door burst open, rattling against the wall and shutting close behind it.

Blaise stretched his hands out, smiling brightly and Harry rolled his eyes. "We're here—"

"Honestly, Zabini, you're such an idiot!"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Better idiotic than stuck-up," he said with a shrug, hovering over Harry.

Theodore crossed his arms across his chest, looking sullen.

"Found anything interesting yet?"

Harry shrugged, turning over the parchment. His findings had him shaking his head, sure he wasn't seeing right.

Blaise burst out in laughter, peering over Harry's shoulder. "Blimey! You've got some serious catching up to do, Harry—"

Harry scoffed. "Mate, I'd have to like continue at this pace—"

"For like your whole Hogwarts career—"

"What? What're you on about?"

Harry turned around and pointed out his father's detention record, grinning at Blaise when Theodore's jaw just dropped open. He glanced up from the parchment into Harry's and Blaise's grinning faces, shaking his head in denial, pointing at the parchment.

"This isn't… This can't be—just—I mean—no!—" Theodore snatched the parchment right out of Harry's hands.

"Head Boy, as well—did you see?"

Harry wagged his brows at Theodore, who was mouthing in disbelief as his eyes trailed over the parchment.

"I certainly did. What's that you were saying, Theo? Can't be a troublemaker and a leader or some other such rubbish?" Blaise's smirk was wicked.

Theodore spluttered widely, throwing his arms up, almost giving up.

"If you ask me, some bloke's that's always causing mayhem—I mean, that person's probably so brilliant, they just have loads of spare time on their hand—"

"Have you seen this?"

Harry nodded solemnly. "Makes sense, you know. I mean, to be honest with you know, Hogwarts barely keeps me busy—"

"Harry!"

"Mhmm… Didn't you have one of the lowest scores for assignments turned in?"

Harry sniffed at Blaise's teasing smirk. "I'm still in the top five, without even trying—that's how good my practical work is—"

Blaise raised up his arms. "Hey, I was just saying—"

"Guys!"

Blaise rolled his eyes and turned to face Theodore. "Yes, Theo? Finally over the fact that you were wrong?" he said mockingly.

Theodore fixed Blaise with a very quick glare and gave the parchment a shake. "I think I found out why Snape hates you so much, Harry..."

* * *

"Is he gone?"

Blaise nodded slowly, and Harry breathed a slow sigh of relief, feeling his insides loosen.

"You're sure?" Harry cocked his head back, looking for himself over his shoulder, to confirm that there was, in fact, no Snape in the corridor—he could hear the cold, stinging, almost whispering voice sentencing him to detention yet again, those black, charcoal eyes sucking him in—

Blaise huffed and roughly grabbed a hold of his arm and shoved him onward. Harry felt his leg's buckles and then, he was staring into the marble floor.

Laughter rang over his ears and Harry lifted up his head, his face twisting into a scowl as he saw Weasley and his friends—Finnigan and Thomas and even Longbottom was shuffling his feet in the background, sniffling and sniggering quietly into his palm—

And Harry felt a fire explode inside his stomach and he breathed in fury through his nose and pushed to his feet, whipping his wand out from his shoe, cleverly hidden out of sight thanks to his robes—

"_Flipendo_!" Harry stabbed his wand downwards and sharply arched it upwards, adding a twirl to his hand movement and watched in delight as a blue and yellow light burst out of his wand, dancing around each other, racing towards Weasley and his mates—

They were still laughing, both Weasley and Finnigan, with his disgusting sandy-hair, and then the light grabbed a hold of them and spat them backwards, sending them rushing into a wide-eyed Thomas, whose arms were held out almost pleadingly, shaking his head very fast—

And then they were groaning in the ground, moaning and wincing, twisting and turning, massaging their backs.

Harry sneered, making forward to them, his right arm quivering, his fingers almost twitching as his mind went back to some of the detentions he'd had with Quirrell…

It was difficult—oh, so difficult not to notice that he was alone here with these Gryffindor blighters.

"Harry! Remember! Prof that kinda hates you…"

Oh, yes, of course—Theodore was here, as well.

Harry slumped at his words, lowering his wand with difficulty, Longbottom was staring on in disbelief at his friends, groaning in pain and moaning on the ground, and staring down at them like he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

Blaise made a sudden movement almost like he was going to charge towards Longbottom and the boy gave a squeak of fright, flinching spectacularly and Harry burst out laughing.

Blaise chuckled. "It's almost too cruel, you know—not to curse him, as well—"

Harry laughed, giving a nod. "You know, you're on to something, aren't Gryffindors supposed to be loyal or some other tosh?"

Blaise laughed, taking a step towards Longbottom now, who was shaking his head furiously at them, taking out his wand. "Exactly… I bet he'll be delighted, really, to land up like his mates here—"

He connected his boot into Finnigan's midsection, his lips stretching into a satisfied smile as the boy gave a gasp of pain.

"After all, you can hardly call yourself a friend if the same fate doesn't befall you, isn't it?"

Finnigan moaned again, turning over into a ball as Blaise kicked him in his midsection as it was exposed.

Harry snickered at the noises that the boy was made. He came around and gave him a kick, as well, sniggering even more as more of those noises erupted from his noises. "Not so funny now, eh, Finnigan?" he mocked, kicking repeatedly, punctuating his every word with a kick. "Laugh now, I dare you! Laugh! What

—you can't? Laugh, go on—"

"Blaise! Harry! Stop! Are you trying to get us expelled?!"

Harry sneered, stepping away from Finnigan, raising his arms up. Blaise shrugged, taking a step back, as well, wiping at his lips.

Finnigan had curled himself into a tight ball, trembling and shaking on the ground—

Blaise suddenly turned to face Harry, looking delighted, his eyes wide open in disbelief. "Is he crying?"

He was!

Finnigan was sniffling, he was doing his all to keep it quiet, but it was obvious the boy was crying.

"Oi, what's the matter, Finnigan? Can't handle a few kicks?" Blaise mocked.

Harry laughed as the sandy-haired boy sniffed in, giving him one last kick to his backside, the hardest yet.

"Leave him alone!"

Harry sneered, turning to face Weasley, who had managed to rise back to his feet, hunched over and clutching his elbow very tightly. Longbottom was trying to help Thomas up to his feet, and he wasn't having all that much luck.

Harry raised his arms up, pretending to be scared. "Oh no, Weasley, don't curse me!" He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm pissing my pants!"

Blaise just laughed.

Weasley looked at Harry in astonishment, shaking his head at him slowly. "You're… you're… you're sick, Potter—is this… your parents… your father died for this?!"

Harry didn't know what came over him. If Weasley had uttered any other words. Any other!

As it was, he didn't even know, he couldn't recall what happened next.

The next thing he remembered was that Weasley was screaming shrilly in pain on his back, the sound of tears cracking in between and his friends were huddled around him, shaking him urgently, asking him impatiently what was wrong.

And then, suddenly, the noise ceased.

But Weasley's mouth was still wide open, and you could see the tears glistening in his eyes, free-falling and Harry frowned, wondering how it could be that Weasley could sound like he was about to die one second and the next, not even utter a sound—

"Prefect Snyde!... I… how… good day…?"

It was her!

That same prefect they'd seen that night, who'd been looking straight at him even though he'd been under the Invisibility Cloak… she was here!

Harry didn't know what happened, suddenly he took a step back, and then another, and another—

"Well, well, well… Isn't this interesting?"

Harry gulped as her violent eyes suddenly focused on him, cocking a brow at him. She chuckled. "The Hat was right, I guess: you are a Slytherin—and keeping it a secret this long, as well…" She slow-clapped mockingly.

The Gryffindors, who had all been looking so hopeful at the sounding of her voice, hung their heads in misery as she waved her wand at Harry, inviting him to come towards her.

She massaged his cheeks, Harry looking straight past her. "Did you do this?"

He gulped.

She chuckled at his reluctance to fess up. "I won't rat you out—I'm Slytherin, what good would that do me?"

Thomas spoke up hurriedly, "Yes, yes, he did! Thank Merlin you're here, he was going to murder us all, he should be expelled, the slimy snake—"

Blaise palmed his face, shaking his head and rubbing his temple. "Honestly, my soul bleeds for you."

Merula looked sardonic, removing her hands from Harry's cheeks. "Mine, as well…" She pointed to her Slytherin badge. "You do realize, right… that I'm Slytherin, as well? And that I might not take too kindly to having my House referred to as the House of "slimy snakes"—"

"But he… I mean, look at what he did to my friends?!" Thomas sputtered indignantly, gesturing wildly at Weasley, hugging himself and crying quietly. "Who knows if they'll ever be the same again?!"

Merula sneered at him. "Oh, why this couldn't get any better, he's a _mudblood_, fabulous!"

The boy pulled his head back, his mouth dropping open, looking like someone had slapped him.

"Not bad, Potter! Now, you—and your friends, leave! I'll take care of this."

"But—"

Merula gave Theodore a warning glance and the boy fell silent. Blaise didn't have any such problems, he grabbed a hold of Theodore's arm, interlocking his with Theodore's and he escorted the boy away.

They were quiet all the way down to the Dungeons. People were milling about the school, enjoying an atypically warm Sunday in the last week of January. Harry kept his head down, in an effort to discourage any interactions but still, people called his name and catcalled after him.

The Dungeons were still rather packed with students, apparently the Slytherins didn't really fancy a stroll around the castle. Harry decided to stay there, unlike Theodore and Blaise, who decided to go down to the dormitories.

Warrington, with Montague and Urquhart trailing after him, spotted him keeping to himself in the corner and began heading his way to come and harass him a bit.

Harry rolled his eyes, casting his eyes about and quickly coming to the conclusion that Flint wasn't about. "No wonder…" he whispered under his breath.

Harry sneered at them upon arrival. "Awfully bold of you, Warrington, to come here—"

Warrington came even closer, towering over Harry, casting a shadow over him even. He spread his arms out, wagging a brow at Montague, who had his arms crossed against his chest, looking more like a boulder than a person. "I'm a bold lad, what can I say?"

"Wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that Flint's nowhere to be found, would it?"

Warrington scowled. "'Course not—Got nuffin' to be scared of Flint for—"

"That right? You lay a finger on me, and I bet you never see a second out there on the pitch again—"

"You're barmy if you think Flint'd choose you over me—"

"You're barmy if you think he wouldn't!"

Warrington and his second-year blighter friends whirled about with a frown into the scowling face of Merula Synde, hands on her hips.

"Beat it, morons!"

The boys didn't argue, just ducking their heads and making themselves scarce.

Harry tucked himself into his armchair, trying to get more comfortable as Merula's incredibly intense violent eyes focused on him, burning deep into him. She just stared, unblinkingly, not even speaking a word, arms now crossed over her chest.

The world seemed to disappear outside of her eyes, and Harry began feeling like he was free-falling and he began earnestly wishing he'd gone down with Blaise and Theodore to the dormitories—

"I like you, Potter…!"

She came closer, trailing her long, polished nails across his jaw, smirking down at him and Harry couldn't even hold in his shiver.

"There's some… _power_… inside you, I know it!"

Harry jerked his head away, faking a smile as she cocked a brow away. "Do I make you uncomfortable?" she said mockingly, almost like one who would speak to a baby or a toddler.

Harry didn't answer, looking away.

He could see Montague and Urquhart were grinning at him, baring their teeth at him; evidently, his discomfort was clear to see even from a distance. He spied Tracey looking on in what he thought was concern and Pansy drinking in the scene eagerly—

"Potter…"

Harry glanced up. The prefect chuckled. "But of course… I forget, you're only eleven." She took a step back, whirling about. "I'll come pick you up later tonight, I want to show you some more spells—"

"I can't—I have… I have… uh, homework—"

"You can have detention, as well—" Merula glanced over her shoulders. "It's not like you deserve anything less… at least, according to the rules of Hogwarts, that I—as a prefect—am supposed to uphold…"

Harry scowled, ducking his head. "See you later tonight then."

Merula smirked and turned away from him. "Good boy…"

* * *

"Hey, Potter—"

"What?!" Harry snapped.

Greengrass blinked at him, her head pulling back, looking like someone had struck her across the face.

Blaise wrapped his arm around him and ushered him away from her.

Harry huffed, feeling a flush come over him as eyes suddenly focused on him as they made their way out of the Dungeons, whispers and hisses breaking out—

"Gerroff off me—" Harry roughly pulled Blaise's arms off of him.

"Alright, fine!"

They were silent, their footfalls echoing as they took the staircase. It was rather dark and chilly in the dormitories, but when was it not.

Blaise shut the door behind him—

Or tried to, somebody stuck his leg in the doorway—

"Oh, what the—"

"It's me!"

Theodore grunted and pushed, wedging himself in there, wiggling inside the dormitory. He flicked on the switch for the lamp, dimly lighting up the dormitory.

"What's up with you, Potter? Greengrass and Parkinson are convinced you've gone mad—"

"Can you blame them?" Blaise shrugged when Harry glared at him.

Harry crossed his arms across his chest, pulling his face and sinking to his bed.

"I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth.

Blaise couldn't have looked less convinced, Theodore at least only looked doubting, biting his lip.

"Seriously, I'm fine—"

"Where I come from, that's anything but fine…" Blaise gave a cool shrug when Harry focused his glare on him.

"I'm fine!"

Blaise muttered under his breath, so low Harry didn't quite catch it but he was certain it wasn't complimentary.

Theodore suddenly clapped his hands. "Okay, let's go out, do some exploring… What?!"

Harry and Blaise were staring at Theodore in amazement, as if they couldn't quite see him properly.

"What?! It's a good idea—"

"What about homework? Didn't you still have to finish your Charms essay—"

"Yeah, and I need to get started on Transfiguration and Defence—"

Theodore dug into his pocket and pulled out his wand. "I'm going out there, you gents can stay in here if you want." He turned around, stepping towards the door. He pulled it open, the creak rather loud in the silence, nothing to hear but the soft splash of the Giant Squid. "…Or you can come with me…"

There was a cool breeze out that night, and the boys didn't even need a cloak as they slinked in and out of corridors.

They marvelled in wonder when Theodore wandered into a wall that fell through, giving way to a dark, musty corridor. They debated for a few seconds before Harry and Blaise tugged Theodore into the corridor.

Theodore grumbled under his breath as Harry and Blaise shined their wands across the walls, bringing graffiti into light.

They rushed to the walls in wonder, caressing the wall, wondering what all the graffiti meant. A lot of the things were written in other languages—

"That's Gaelic!" Theodore gushed.

Harry and Blaise looked at each other, rolling their eyes.

Theodore then went into a long rant, talking about how it actually made a whole lot of sense for the stuff here to be in Gaelic—

"You know, if you check the numbers, you'll find that at least half the students back in the Middle Ages were of Irish descent so it actually makes quite a lot of sense—"

Blaise drew out a particularly long yawn, even adding a stretch for emphasis, Theodore looked far from pleased, giving him a murderous glance. Harry was proud of how he kept his expression in check.

"So, Theo… you speak Gaelic?" Even Harry sounded doubting asking his question.

Theodore straightened, his face brightening as he prepared to answer. "No—but I can read it a bit… like over here—" He waved them over, pointing to a poem—"this right here is about a…" he paused, reading the text, drawing short, his face clearly showing how puzzled he was.

"… Some bloke that wanted to marry a peasant lady…?"

Harry and Blaise rolled their eyes at each other.

"My Gaelic isn't that great—"

"We gathered—"

"It's an ancient language—my grandmother only taught me a few words—"

"Can you imagine how mind-numbingly boring that must be? You meet up with your gran thinking you're 'bout to get some ice-cream or some sweets at the very least—"

"But nope, all you get is Gaelic!" Harry couldn't help himself, and he and Blaise collapsed into laughter.

Theodore didn't join them obviously, and when they turned around they found him trailing his fingers across another piece of tapestry, this one showed a red-haired Gryffindor bloke clutching a broom, his chest stuck out proudly, yet another poem scrawled to his side.

Harry sighed. "This is going to take a while…"

"I'm more keen to find out where this corridor leads off to…"

They found in the end, but it was slow working.

Theodore pointed every language he saw.

"That's Latin!" he gushed.

Then, he'd gone on a proper spiel, detailing exactly how he'd realized he was looking at that language, something about every language having it's own distinct personality if you just quietly inspected the grammar—

"Boring!" Blaise would call out, Harry quietly in support and they'd move on, thankfully.

Until Theodore found another language.

"Ancient Greek!"

Blaise slapped himself over the head. "Just why?! Why you'd even know, or want to know that is beyond me!"

Harry and Blaise teamed up to carry Theodore out of the corridor, easily ignoring his cries of protest.

"Honestly, you think we came out here to inspect some languages?!"

The wind slapped them in the face, making Harry blink furiously. It was quite the switch from the damp air inside the corridor.

"I still think there's a lot to that corridor—"

"Where are we?" Blaise was frowning about, his eyes trailing across the walls.

Harry narrowed his eyes, focusing on the statue standing there, a sword in his hand, a very familiar window glinting—

"I dunno—"

"This is the fourth floor," Harry broke Theodore up.

Suddenly, they heard the clattering of metals, clashing and echoing loudly in the night.

They glanced at each other in alarm, cursing and mutterings exploding into the skies all around them and Harry felt his insides twitch with discomfort. He fumbled for the walls behind pushing and applying force, even pressing his knee up against it—

A scream suddenly sounded bringing the three boys up, frowning at each other.

Harry didn't waste too much time, he turned around and quickly made his back into the corridor. He breathed in the musty air with relief, and he didn't even rub at his nose or sniff in disgust like he'd been doing—

"Urgh!" Blaise rubbed at his nose, making a sound of utter disgust beside him—

"Shush!" Theodore said.

"Don't shush me—"

"There's something going on out there…"

He was right.

He could hear some scuffle developing, sounds of pain—

Laughter.

Loud laughter, rather familiar.

Harry frowned, squinting as light washed over his face, bringing a hand to shield his eyes.

They were silent in the corridor, glancing at each other as the commotion went on.

"You bleeding morons! I'll get you back for this, I swear—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah—whatever, Ced—"

"We've heard that before, haven't we?"

"You won't get away with this—"

"Well, guess what? We will—"

"Couple of fucking pricks, aren't you?" The boy sounded right brassed off.

Laughter sounded, and it was chilling, freezing Harry.

He turned to Blaise, his eyes equally wide. "Weasleys!" he mouthed. Blaise nodded fast and hard and Harry quickly rummaged, fumbling for his wand, feeling an air of calm wash over him as the wood wrapped around his palm.

"Nothing personal, Ced—"

"Just had to try out a new spell, innit—"

"Absolutely delighted to be your test subject—"

"That's the spirit, mate—"

"G'night, then—"

"Wait—I was joking, it was a fucking joke!"

The Weasley Twins boisterous laughter sounded, echoing, getting louder and Harry heard and felt the thought blare more than anything in his head—

_They're coming!_

"Nox."

It was pitch-black in the corridor again, and Harry shuffled himself and pressed himself into the wall—

Suddenly, a yelp sounded and then it was muffled, he could hear wriggling and screaming and he could feel his heart beating as he squinted in the darkness, trying to make sense of what he was hearing—

Eerily conscious of a roaring wave building in his ear as a creak sounded and then a footfall—

The Weasley Twins were here with them… in a dim corridor—

An image flitted through his eyes of what they'd do to him when they saw him, he could see himself sprawled across the ground, slugs coming out of his mouth—

He pressed himself even deeper into the wall, sucking his stomach in, shaking his head very quickly as he shook his head back and forth, praying to himself that he'd just disappear from sight, that nobody could see him, for his Invisibility Cloak—oh, why had he decided to leave it back in the dormitories?—

And suddenly a dim light shined on his face and he peeked through one eye, and then the other when he saw Blaise smirking at him—

"Are they gone?"

Blaise just nodded, and Harry sagged in relief, letting a breath loose.

Outside, they met quite the ridiculous image.

This lanky bloke was bound up in ropes, struggling and trying to wriggle himself free. Somehow, his hair was flashing all different colours, reminding Harry of a rainbow—

"Merlin above, what's that smell?!"

"Watch out!"

A balloon splattered to the ground and exploded, coming to cover Theodore, who looked quite aghast, looking at himself like he was infected with some sort of disease—

"Mate, you smell," Blaise said, wrinkling his nose with a look of disgust at Theodore. Harry couldn't help his laugh, bringing a hand to cover his nose.

"You lads mind helping me out here?"

Harry looked down at the lanky lad, his hair flashing all different kinds of colours, his nose swollen, struggling with the binds, wriggling and moving about like a worm—

He turned away to hide his laugh but Blaise caught his eye and laughed as well—

"Listen, I'm sure I look hilarious—but I have stuff to do tonight, you know—"

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir—we'll just hasten to free you then, you're obviously too busy to be here." Blaise's voice was laden with sarcasm, sneering.

Harry chuckled.

"The Twins did this to you, isn't it?"

"Yeah…"

Harry nodded. "Well, I don't think we can do anything about the smell—"

"No kidding—"

Harry snorted. "But maybe we can free you…? D'you know what spell they used…?"

It was hard work, and Harry was almost convinced by Blaise to just leave it—"I mean, just think of how funny it'd be for some prefect to wander upon him, and Hufflepuff is second on the standings, isn't it?"

But Harry liked the challenge of learning a new spell.

Especially spells that he thought could help him in a fight.

And—regardless of what Blaise thought of it—Harry could see spells like "Mobilarbus", "Prolieum ditio" and finally, "Relashio!" coming in real handy one day.

Cedric Diggory introduced himself when they'd finally released him from his binding, full of gratitude—

"Yeah, no to the handshake, thanks, mate!" Blaise answered for Harry.

Theodore whacked Blaise over the head, leaving their friend scowling and massaging the back of his head with a sullen scowl.

Cedric was also rather kind, too kind—

"Can't expect anything less from a Hufflepuff, really…" Blaise grumbled under his breath later as they were heading back to the dormitories.

Honest, too—

"Those Weasley Twins, honestly, they're hilarious and everything—but I really hope someone gives it to them proper one of these days."

"You know," Harry said, a smirk growing on his lips as he thought back on Cedric's words. "The Weasley Twins really do need to be taught a lesson…"


	22. It's Not Just a Game

"Sick!"

Harry rolled his eyes, making for one of the four sofa's spread around the wooden table in the middle.

Blaise and Theodore were glancing around the room in wonder, Blaise caressing the poster of the legendary English Quidditch team from '78 that had captured the Quidditch World Cup. Apparently, Harry had been smart to replace his father's Gryffindor Quidditch poster with that one.

Blaise glanced over his shoulder, his face alight in wonder. "How did you find this place?"

Harry winked. "That's for you to ask, and for me to know."

Blaise scoffed, shaking his head. "If you could just do something about the floors, this place would be perfect—"

"Yeah, but I don't know how to do that yet." Harry grimaced, sitting up in his sofa, stretching out his arm to gather the parchment that he'd had Moony leave here. He unfolded the parchment—

"So this is where you were sleeping then…" Harry glanced up from the parchment, frowning slightly. He glanced at Theodore, wondering if the boy knew what their friend was on about. Their weedy friend lifted up his arms, shrugging at Harry as he hopped into the sofa to Harry's left.  
"At the beginning of term—you know, when you were sleeping out every night?" Blaise said with an imploring glance at Harry.

"Ohhhh—yeah!" Harry laughed, nodding, with an easy smile, easily ignoring that niggling feeling in his stomach.

Blaise nodded, giving the room one final glance. "Can't say I blame you now…" Harry shrugged, gesturing to the seat to his right.

"Alright gents!" Harry began, beaming brightly as Blaise sank into the sofa to his right, leaving the sofa across from Harry very empty. "So, like I said—I wanted us to come here so that what happened this Wednesday never happens again—"

"Hear, hear…" Blaise mumbled, Theodore shuddered.

The three of them had been plotting just how they would prank the Weasley Twins, throwing absurd ideas about and snickering at the potential—and then Malfoy burst through the door wearing a delighted smile.

"Aha! Snape'll definitely hear about this!"

They'd had to patiently remind Malfoy that plotting to do something illegal was very legal, especially since they hadn't actually done the deed—Blaise roaring with laughter the whole time, spasming on the ground.

Harry sniggered at the memory of Malfoy freezing, his mouth hanging open as he realized he'd cocked up the whole thing.

"The moment anything happens to the Weasleys, though, Malfoy's going to run to Snape and rat us out—"

"No, he won't—"

Theodore frowned at Harry. "Why wouldn't he?" Blaise was frowning, as well, peering into Harry with curiosity.

Harry waved a hand. "I'll take care of it," Harry said, his jaw set firmly. It was about time he put a stop to Malfoy's shenanigans.

Blaise smirked, like he understood what Harry meant, Theodore looked uncertain, a small frown playing on his face and Harry chuckled at him.

"Can we all appreciate the irony of it all, though? That the Weasley Twins are technically being protected by Malfoy…" Harry and Theodore glanced at each other and then burst out laughing. Blaise shrugged. "It's true, I mean, think 'bout it…"

They spent the next few minutes mocking Malfoy and the Weasley Twins and laughing about it.

"Anyway, I've been thinking—Valentine's Day ought to be a brilliant day to strike—"

"Why?"

Harry shrugged. "I hear Valentine's is always busy—" Lucian and Pergerine had been pestering him over the past week on and off the Quidditch pitch with disgustingly vivid imagery of what they intended to do with some girls on Valentine's Day.

Blaise nodded, looking thoughtful. "True, Skeeter is probably going to do yet another Lockhart special—"

"What?"

"Lockhart. Gilderoy Lockhart," Blaise pronounced when Harry still looked blank, his face now turning into a confused frown as Harry remained clueless, no expression of recognition washing over him. "You know, five time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award… Order of Merlin, Third Class recipient—" Blaise was saying, sounding quite frustrated now.

"Isn't Slytherin playing Ravenclaw then?"

Harry sighed, running a hand over his face. "Don't remind me."

He did a good job of not thinking about it. They finished the meeting, Harry excitedly relaying some of the ideas Moony had thrown at him, and even showing Blaise and Theodore how and what potions they'd have to make. They quickly concluded that Blaise, by far the best at Potions, would handle that part of the prank.

He and Blaise were very surprised when Theodore didn't even try to object when Harry suggested they were going to have to do a late-night exploring session in the library—to copy a few books—

"Makes sense, though," Blaise theorized later that evening in the solace of the Dungeons as he scribbled out the finishing touches to his Potions assignment, "those Twins got that Dungbomb all over him, didn't they? Made an enemy of Theo in the process," he said with a chortle, just before Merula came to collect Harry to go teach him some spells, under the pretence of "detention".

Harry grumbled and argued with Merula all the way to the classroom she'd managed to reserve for the evening, saying how it really did look like he spent legit every evening in detention—

"That's cute, Potter—that you think I care about what others think, you're so cute…" Harry scowled, but she just pinched his cheek.

Harry had totally forgotten about Quidditch, Flint and that there was even a House at Hogwarts called Ravenclaw by the time they were done with what was without doubt the most gruelling session they'd had yet—

"One day, I'll beat you in a duel," Harry was saying, grinning through his heavy breathing, his robes sticking to his sweaty body.

"Maybe when I'm one hundred, sure, hun…"

Harry flushed as Merula smirked a wide, ruthless smirk. "That's not what I meant—I meant before term ends—"

Merula's laughter was soft and genuinely amused. "I just taught you the Full-Body Bind and now you think you can take me?"

"I almost had you a couple of times—"

Merula rolled her eyes. "Please—I was toying with you, trying to make it interesting—"

"I had you with the Jelly-Fingers, clean—"

"Did you really? I don't recall losing any of the duels and I quite remember you on your bottom half a dozen times—"

"Yeah, well…" Harry grumbled under his breath about how unfair it was that she was ambidextrous—

"Flint!" Harry felt his body jerk and give out at that name and he ground to a stop in the middle of the corridor, seeing a large shadow descend over him and Merula.

"So it's true, then?" Harry wilted at Flint's vicious sneer, glancing into the wall.

"What is?" Merula sounded impatient but Flint was glaring down at Harry and he gulped, he could already see the extra rounds Flint was going to make him run when they next had training, which unfortunately for him was tomorrow and a shudder went through him.

Flint rushed forward and grabbed Harry's hand, ripping him away from Merula's side. "Have a nice evening, Snyde!"

Flint didn't speak a word as he whisked Harry away, dragging and tugging him along as sped-walked down towards the Dungeons. By the time they made it back to the button-tufted sofa generally reserved for Quidditch players, his arms were aching and his legs were twitching and spasming, Harry grinding his teeth.

He rose his head to voice a word of complaint but stopped short at Flint's furious expression. "Have you actually gone mad?!" Harry winced.

"You know we're playing fucking Ravenclaw in seven days—"

"Yeah—"

"Then why the fuck are you out duelling with Merula Synde?"

"Well," Harry began, faltering at Flint baring over him, his eyes ablaze with fire and arms held out expectantly for an answer. "I… I mean, it's not like we actually duelled, you know—"

Flint snarled. "Stop bullshitting me**,** Potter—"

"I'm not, she was just teaching me the Fully Body-Bind—"

Flint roared, throwing his arms but he seemed to catch himself in the motion of a punch, wiping his palm across his robes, suddenly looking unbelievably calm, his arms above his head.

"You know what? I'm done stressing myself 'bout this shite—I've held up my end very well, you fuck up next Sunday, you better not chat shite 'bout me, 'cause what's gonna happen to you if you fuck up is gonna be exactly what you deserve, no doubt 'bout it!"

Harry glanced about as Flint stormed down the stairs and disappeared down the dormitories, his eyes connecting with Theodore frowning at him in concern, Urquhart and Montague grinning at him, wagging their brows and they made a slashing motion across their neck, Malfoy just looked curious and uncertain, frowning hard.

And with that harsh warning ringing in his ear, the week came to meet Harry.

Flint had managed to reserve the pitch every single evening from Monday to Friday—and Monday evening, just like Harry had expected, Flint had him do an extra seven laps—

"Thanks, Lucian," Harry said after practice, clasping tighter around Lucian's neck as his Beater gave him a piggy-back ride back to the Dungeons.

"Honestly, you'd think these pillocks knew how to ride a broom," Harry complained to Blaise the next day as they elbowed their way through a crowd on the fifth floor that were hurling insults at him, barring his path—

"Your little tricks ain't gonna cut it this time, Potter—" That was one of the Gryffindor Chasers, it was either Johnson or Bell, Harry wasn't sure, they were both dark-skinned.

"You caught us off-guard but Ravenclaw have already seen you play… shame…" That was the other Gryffindor Chaser, wearing a simpering smile as she tutted at Harry.

Just on the third floor, Harry run into yet another person with one or two to say about the upcoming match.

"Wood's good and all, don't get me wrong—but Egwu is already got a contract to go Pro—" That was Lee Jordan, the best friend of the Twins, and Harry didn't hesitate to hurl the Body-Bind his way, especially when he realized there was nobody else with them on the third-floor corridor.

"Duncan and Jason are gonna murder you, take it from me—" That was some gangly, ginger Hufflepuff bloke who went on to introduce himself as Hufflepuff's Seeker—"couple o' years back!".

"Still have nightmares 'bout what they did to me," the boy went on to say with a little shudder, his eyes unfocused.

"At least, nobody's trying to put you in the Infirmary this time," Theodore pointed out in the refuge of their hideout on the fourth floor, as they worked out a few more finer details for their planned prank against the Weasleys.

Like for example—"Who's going to do the trigger spell? 'Cause Flint won't allow me out of the dorms past nine on Saturday—"

"How 'bout Sunday?"

Harry shook his head. "Flint won't let me out of his sight on match day, Theo, come on, you know that!" Blaise snickered.

Theodore was shaking his head in irritation. "Alright then, let Blaise do it—"

"Why don't you do it?" Theodore stilled all of a sudden. "I mean, let's be honest, nobody would suspect you, so nobody's going to think it's dodgy if you're up early—"

"Brilliant!" Harry nodded, he could very clearly see it playing out before his eyes. Who would suspect weedy, harmless, never-in-detention, always-turning-in-homework, spod Theodore of being on his way to wreak havoc?

Theodore sighed, sagging into the sofa. "Fine—all this just because of a stupid Quidditch match!"

Blaise pulled his lips from the jug of chocolate that he'd got the house elves to get for him; Harry had shown him and Theodore the kitchens just the other day, and his olive-skinned friend was fully making use of it.

"Don't let anyone outside this room hear you repeat those words!"

No lie—Harry was in full disagreement with Theodore when he uttered that statement. But as the week dragged on, he began leaning more and more towards his side.

It was different than when they played Gryffindor.

There wasn't all that much hostility to deal with—

Well, not for Harry anyway—and that was really the most glaring issue.

Flint seemed to hear the exact same phrase wherever he found himself in the castle.

"You're downright loony if you think you're getting even one past Egwu, Flint!" followed by uproarious laughter.

The Sports section in the Prophet had been gushing and blushing for three straight days when the news broke out back in January that the Pride of Portee were giving Andre Egwu a first-team contract straight out of Hogwarts, assuring the Ravenclaw he was going to be starting ahead of Meaghan McCormack, who'd continued to disappoint in her fifth season between the hoops. All the scouts were dubbing it an astute decision, throwing the Hufflepuff seventh-year Keeper between the hoops. The fact of the matter was, Andre Egwu was good, fucking, disgustingly good—brilliant, even.

"I reckon Flint's just legit worried we're going to get spanked by the 'Claws," Lucian was saying, lingering with the rest of the team after practice Thursday evening. Flint had stormed out at the end, not even leading them in their normal closing ritual.

"Can't blame him," Bletchley said with a dejected sigh, head hung. "Did you see what they did to Hufflepuff?"

The Team whistled at the memory, shaking their heads, almost in sympathy for Hufflepuff.

"Yeah—but Hufflepuff's almost all rookies—that's not on 'em—" Harry was saying in their defence, feeling oddly hotly defensive on their behalf.

"Mate, they shouldn't have been out there with Ravenclaw, on the same pitch—"

"Maybe not," Harry admitted with a shrug, thinking back to the 470-30 thumping in early December with a wince.

"We shouldn't be talking behind Flint's back like this—"

"Fuck you, Warrington!" Pergerine scowled at their Tactician Chaser, making his displeasure clear as the boy coloured, his eye twitching in shock as the words washed over him.

"I'll tell him—"

"Go on then—" Harry said bemusedly.

"Yeah! Maybe suck on his cock a bit, as well—tell him to calm the fuck down and that him being on his period isn't going to help us beat the 'Claws one little bit!"

Practice the next day—their last before the game—was horrendous.

Flint was in a filthy mood the whole day, snapping at Gemma Farley at breakfast, and she ran out the Great Hall in a hurry, her body wracked by tears, leaving her girlfriends scurrying after her to stunned silence at the table of the Snakes.

"Yikes!" Blaise muttered to him out of the corner of his mouth. "And they're seeing each other, you know—imagine what he's going to do to you later tonight."

Harry grimaced as the words jolted through his system. He was somewhat comforted to see Pucey looking rather stricken, as well.

The gods smiled down at him—

"Have you heard? We don't have class—"

"What?" Harry interrupted Tracey. "Are you having us on—"

"How d'you even know?" Blaise asked with a disbelieving frown.

"Pansy said she saw Snape limping into the Hospital Wing—" Tracey excitedly explained.

So they locked themselves up inside their hideout, finalizing all their plans and most importantly, making sure Blaise and Theodore could perform all the necessary spells. Harry was so indulged in the planning that he couldn't even spare the upcoming dreaded practice a thought.

"No, that's not how the spell goes, Blaise—look, twist your wand more this way—"

Theodore was his usual upbeat self, seeing the bright side to all their struggles: "You know, at least this way, we won't end up in detention and will personally witness you getting walloped by Ravenclaw…"

Harry arrived at practice with an easy smile on his face, his broomstick loosely perched on his shoulder.

His good mood got punctured the moment he got inside the locker room and counted seventeen blokes, and not seven!

"Dunno who raped him in the arse," Harry was grumbling after a demanding practice match with four Beaters, instead of the usual two, and three Keepers, one for each hoop.

His body was taut with pain and his face was scrunched up in his discomfort as he tried to ice up, his body twitching and spasming at will, his palms blistering, his back sore with a large bruising covering at least half his back—

"I'm with you, mate," Pucey said, limping out of the shower, a towel around his waist, a shining blue bruise glistening in the middle of his chest. "Captain's absolutely lost his mind! 'Best training we could possibly get for Ravenclaw' my arse!"

"Take a chance this weekend!" The Weasley Twins could be heard from a ways away—the moment you stepped out of the Dungeons, actually, and Harry was scowling as he finally stepped out, finally—at dinner time!—having being able to gather the strength after the practice yesterday.

"We'll get him tomorrow," Theodore soothed him, or tried to, anyhow, Harry still scowling sullenly.

"I mean, just remember…" And then Blaise went on to describe just how flipped about the situation would be, come the morning, and Harry was laughing for the first time that day.

"Eleven to two odds for Slytherin—" One of the Twins were saying, his wand jabbed into his throat, somehow amplifying his voice. The crowd that had gathered before the Great Hall burst out in laughter.

"I know that sounds daunting—" The other went on, doing that sodding thing they always did.

"But let's not forget that Slytherin luckily squeaked by Gryffindor—"

"Remember what Merlin said—"

"Risk big—"

"Win big—" The crowd laughed. Nobody moved to bet on Slytherin and as Harry watched on, several drew out coins, golden coins, and even bags of coins that jingled and clinked together and bet on Ravenclaw—

"Merlin didn't say that—" A bushy-haired girl behind Harry and his friends said—

"Salazar bless you, woman!" Harry exclaimed.

"Despite your House," Blaise, wrinkling his nose with a pointed look at the scarlet and gold uniform the girl was wearing.

She gave Blaise a severe look. "Hermione Granger!" she introduced herself.

"Look! There is Potter!" The crowd broke down into laughter again, and Harry flushed as all the eyes suddenly focused on him.

He could see the students clearly now, it was mostly Gryffindors—no, scratch that, Harry thought, making out a wave of Ravenclaws—

So, just Gryffindors and Ravenclaws—

_Understandable_, he thought—those were the two teams they'd faced so far—

Oh, no, scratch that, Harry thought, slumping in disappointment, making out people wearing bronze and silver ties, as well.

"You know—I don't know too much about this Quidditch business…" Harry glanced up with a sharp frown. "But it sure doesn't look Slytherin is going to be winning this weekend…"

"Oi Potter! Oi Potter—look, look!" One of the Twins cried out, elbowing his way past the crowd, pushing towards Harry, his eyes dancing with mirth—

"Nobody's bet on Slytherin yet—over seventy people have bet already, you know—"

"Shame, isn't it? Nobody believes Slytherin's actually going to win this—"

Harry had had enough, he jerked into action, making forward, dashing for the door. The crowd laughed at him, mocked him as they caught onto what he was trying to do—

"Oh, our mistake—thinking a Slytherin had the balls to lay some coin on the line—"

Harry reached out and pulled the Great Hall's door open, gritting his teeth at the effort it took him and shutting the door behind him with a sharp thud, his chest rising up and down heavily, his eyes closed.

When he opened his eyes, the Gryffindor table was nearly empty, just a few stragglers hanging around at their bench—

So was the Ravenclaw bench—

The Hufflepuff table less so, it was almost like it always was down there—

Harry cringed at the sight of a weary Flint sitting in his usual spot in the middle of the Slytherin bench, his shoulders too low, quietly sipping his soup, unable to help the thought that surged through his head—

_He looks so defeated!_

Harry woke up with his fists clenched, his eyes twitching. He spent the next few minutes pummeling his bed until Blaise came and tackled him into the bed—

"To think _you're_ the one that's going to represent us out there today at Seeker—"

"Fucking hell!" Harry cursed as his Toenail-growing hex narrowly whipped past by Malfoy's cheek, the boy's eyes wide in wonder and fear, apparently now realizing that Harry had no issue cursing him.

Blaise whisked him out of the room, Theodore helping him, up the stairs to the Dungeons, ignoring his whining—

"I left my broom down there, you git—"

"We'll get it for you!"

Harry crossed his arms stubbornly across his chest, seated in the button-tufted sofa up in the Dungeons, waiting for them.

It was horrible timing, as Harry watched, Gemma Farley came to pass by, sneering at Harry as she made her way to the Great Hall for breakfast—

Then, Urquhart and Montague, baring their teeth at Harry—

"Good luck out there, Potter!"

Harry glanced up frowning, his frown turning into an ear-splitting smile when he saw Merula Snyde waving at him as she made her way to the Great Hall, dragging a dark-haired girl with her.

Right behind her were all the first-year girls: Greengrass gave him a cool nod, Tracey smiled at him, giving him a small wave, Parkinson sneered at him and the rest turned their nose at him, scuttling after the other girls as if Harry wasn't worth their time—

"Damn, Potter—you look like shite!"

Harry glanced up into the face of Flint and pulled his face back in surprise when he saw the bags under his eyes and how droopy they looked as the boy sank into the sofa right next to him, his neck falling to the side and his eyes shut close before him.

"Woah!"

Harry gave a grim nod at the shell-shocked face of Blaise and Theodore, holding his broom and his equipment, as they watched Flint snoring beside Harry. "Yup…" he said, face-palming himself.

Theodore shifted awkwardly on the balls of his feet.

"Shouldn't we wake him up…?"

"I'm up…" Flint slurred, lifting his head up an inch before his head sank straight back.

The boys looked at each other in alarm and Harry, especially, felt his stomach clench at that.

Blaise jabbed his finger in the direction of the stone wall entrance and Harry gave a short nod, and they began tiptoeing out of the Dungeons—

A sound went off and Harry flinched, turning about to find Flint now sprawled across the sofa, face buried into it. He winced.

They were silent all the way out of the Dungeons and nobody said a word, their downcast expression, avoiding the eyes of everybody they met speaking volumes—

"Mate, don't want to put pressure on you or anything," Blaise said as they got to the ground level—

"Yeah?" Harry ground out.

Blaise cringed. "Just… you know—yesterday, when the Weasleys were doing that betting thing…"

"Yeah?"

"I mean, you have to understand, they were goading me—"

"He bet five galleons on Slytherin winning!" Theodore finished, sniffing and glancing away at Blaise's scandalized, betrayed expression.

Harry felt his jaw drop open. "What?! Are you mad?—Five galleons?—Might as well have thrown that down the gutter—"

Blaise winced. "Well, that's really not what I was hoping to hear from you—"

"Yeah, well, it's the bloody truth," Harry said, wiping a hand over his face, thinking back to Flint, slumped face-first in a sofa in the Dungeons still, barely two hours out from the match tipping off.

Blaise sighed. "I'm just—listen, I don't have too much gold—"

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't have gone and thrown five of it away then, should you?"

Blaise grimaced, scratching at his head, avoiding Harry's glaring eyes. "Listen—I mean…" The boy sighed. "Just—please! Do all you can to win!"

Harry just shook his head in disgust, ripping his equipment free from Blaise's hands, tugged his broom away from Theodore, shouldering it and he began the long, heavy trudge up to the Changing rooms.

"What about the prank?" Theodore called out after him.

But Harry didn't turn around, his lips set in a tight line, his jaw set and his fists clenched as the leaves crunched underneath his boots, his breath going up and down very steadily.

He turned the corner to the corridor that would take him down to the Changing Room just as Snape passed him by, his charcoal black eyes baring into Harry, his face an ugly sneer—

"Something the matter, Potter?" he snarled.

But before, Harry could even respond, the man limped away. Harry frowned at that, glancing over his shoulder a couple of times to make sure he hadn't imagined seeing the man limping.

He shook his head, clearing it of all theories of how the man had gotten himself injured.

Their jerseys were already laid out when Harry arrived, and he threw his equipment to the ground with a huff, cupping his head in his hand.

His stomach growled and churned with hunger and his body was shaking a little, his breath coming out in spurts, he couldn't breathe freely, his whole body going tight as he envisioned how the match was going to go.

He remained like that for a while.

He didn't know exactly how long, but soon enough, he could hear sounds building up outside, floating in through the windows, cheers, singing and trumpets, the piercing, earthly screams of eagles going through him, making him tremble.

Finally, the noises were loud, too loud, almost shaking the whole changing room and Harry frowned around the empty changing room, clutching his head and gritting his teeth—

"Yeah, this game 'bout to be a bitch!" Lucian trudged in with Pergerine trailing in after him.

Pergerine grunted. "Good to see you, Potter."

Harry just nodded.

Lucian and Pergerine didn't seem to hold it against him, rather subdued themselves, quietly going about knitting up for the match.

Pucey showed up not long after, equally subdued. Everybody exchanged grunts—might've had something to do with the fact that you could barely hear yourself think with the noise blaring all around—Harry rose to his feet and began knitting up as well, just as Bletchley showed up with Warrington behind him.

Soon enough, everyone was suited up, clutching their broomsticks, and now the piercing screams of the Ravenclaw was just ringing in his ear, he could hear whooping, clapping, screaming and he gritted his teeth as it got louder and louder, his whole body seemed to be vibrating—

"Merlin, I hate playing Ravenclaw—"

"You guys beat them last year, right?" Harry cut Pucey off.

Pucey glanced up in surprise and gave a snort. "Beat Ravenclaw? Not quite—"

"Lost 240-90 actually…" Bletchley told him, strapping on some knee pads.

Harry felt his jaw drop open.

"AAAAAAAAAND WELCOME, LADIES AND GENTS, WIZARDS AND WITCHES, PROFESSORS, SPECIAL GUESTS, TO THIS HIGHLY ANTICIPATED SHOWDOWN BETWEEN HOUSE RAVENCLAW AND HOUSE SLYTHERIN—

"Where the bloody fuck is Flint?"

Harry stopped, feeling his stomach drop as he thought back to Flint sprawled across the sofa, groaning softly.

The announcements went on, Lee Jordan introducing the Ravenclaw and when Andre Egwu got introduced with the moniker "best player at Hogwarts", Harry had to close his eyes as the shrill screams poured over him and he could feel his whole being vibrating.

And then, it was Slytherin's turn.

"But where is Flint?"

Lucian shrugged. "We're just gonna have to play without him!"

"What?!" Warrington exclaimed. "He's our Captain, we can't play without him—"

"You've got a better idea, then?!" Pergerine said, taking off towards the edge of the locker room, Harry followed him, his body shaking even more with every step he took, the screams somehow getting louder until it was ringing in his ear—

"Son of a—"

The stands were overflowing.

There was a green snake floating in the sky above the Ravenclaw section, an eagle just coolly sucking the blood out of it's neck as Harry watched on, aghast. Legit the whole school was a wave of silver and blue, even the Gryffindors had shelved their so-called house-pride, Pucey pointed out several Gryffindors, donning the Ravenclaw colors.

It was rumbling over here, the ground was shaking and Harry felt his knee give way, but Pergerine straightened him up, just giving Harry a nod before he, himself, glanced away.

"FIRST—THEIR KEEPER, NOTORIOUS FOR LEAKING—" the crowd burst out into raucous laughter, "OH, COME ON, PROFESSOR, IT'S THE TRUTH—MILES BLETCHLEY—"

Harry winced for his teammates as the boo's came to rain over him, it was wilting and discouraging and he felt a gaping hole in his heart as he glanced around, spotting the Slytherin crowd, arms crossed, a green banner displaying a silver snake waved at them in the sky, and for the rest they barely made a sound.

Next up were Lucian and Pergerine and Harry exchanged a quick fist-bump with them—

"Good luck out there, Potter—"

"Salazar be with you—"

"We're not helping you, remember—"

"I know!" Harry snapped. He was going to be playing Playmaker the whole game, alongside Pucey; they'd been practicing that for months, he didn't need to be reminded just before the match.

They nodded and kicked off into the skies.

Pucey looked grim, Warrington was shifting nervously on his feet, and Harry gulped, his heartrate suddenly accelerating, he closed his eyes, trying to breathe in, breathe out—

"Salazar's slippery snake, am I glad to see you, Flint—"

Harry blinked his eyes open but it was too late, all he saw was the tail of the broomstick as the Chasers sailed into the sky.

He took in a deep breath, trying to psych himself up. "Nobody believed we could get past Gryffindor either and look what happened—" He nodded to himself, his heart drumming fast and hard against his chest and he wiped his clammy hands against his robes, rubbing his pits against his body—

"AND FINALLY, SEEKER POTTER!"

The binoculars blinded him immediately, the lights way too bright, reflecting against the sun high above them, and he was forced to bring up a hand to shield his eye, lazily steering his broom towards his teammates. Flint nodded at him, his jaw set and determined, his eyes red with anger—

Harry smiled, flexing his fingers at the sight, doing a couple of loops. He could feel the energy flowing through his limbs and he smiled for the first time that morning, rearing to go.

Hoot called Flint and Egwu to the middle for some warnings, Harry couldn't hear a word being said thanks to the but he could see that Flint's customary intimidation tactic of crushing the other captain's hand hadn't worked, spotting Egwu's amused smile.

Then, the crate spat out the balls—

"LET'S GO!—NOT TOO LONG NOW BEFORE SLYTHERIN FALL TO DEFEAT!"

"JORDAN!"

* * *

**Obviously, I've given Quidditch quite a bit of focus in this story. Some people might ask how that's "Slytherin" but the truth of the matter is that ther're precious few, if any, eleven year olds who want to holed up in some dingy classroom, learning dark spells. And at what motivation even? My Harry isn't even aware that Voldemort is still alive, really. I think he's quite cunning for his age, and embodies the other Slytherin qualities rather well, but I'd like to know what you guys think. Say, you missed the Sorting chapter and I deleted everything that pointed to Harry being Slytherin in my story (like the location of the common room, uniforms...) would it be apparent that he's still Slytherin?**


	23. With Blood, Sweat and Tears

Warrington plucked the Quaffle out of the sky, rumbling forward—

"WHAT'S THIS? SLYTHERIN OPTING FOR AN EVEN WEIRDER PICK AT PLAYMAKER WITH WARRINGTON NOW?!"

The crowd laughed and cackled, pointing at Warrington and shaking with laughter—

Warrington found Pucey off to his right, hugging the touchline high in the sky but before he could even make a move, he grunted and the Quaffle popped out of his hands as the Bludger rammed straight into his back, the crowd waving their arms and quacking in approval—

"BRUTAL BLUDGER BACKBEAT THERE FROM DUNCAN, GOOD GODRIC—"

The Ravenclaws sped away with the Quaffle, and Harry gritted his teeth, racing back to help Warrington, stranded in a three-on-one situation—

"QUAFFLE'S WITH DAVIES—SENSATIONAL FIND BY EGWU—BURIED THE PUFFS IN DECEMBER FOR FIFTY POINTS—"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Get his cock even deeper down your gullet, why don't you, Jordan?"

Harry was very close to Davies now, he thrust forward with his broom, egging it on for a last burst of acceleration and whooped, taking a swipe at the Quaffle—

Jordan laughed. "TOUGH LUCK, POTTER—DAVIES DISHES IT OUT TO BURROW—"

Harry scowled, tailing Davies who was trying to circle outside behind Warrington, who had gone out to meet Burrow, waving his hands above his hand to deflect any incoming passes—

"STRETTON, UNMARKED FROM THE BACKFIELD—"

Harry whirled about, frowning, only to see the third Chaser indeed, live and unmarked, playing with the Quaffle in his palm as he surged forward, cursing the name of Flint—

And just as he rushed out to go meet Stretton, the boy collected the Quaffle in his arms and drove it forward with speed in a pass and Davies was now one-on-one with Bletchley, and the crowd sucked in a breath and Harry growled—

Davies pulled his arm back and took aim, releasing the Quaffle towards the hoop on Bletchley's left but the Quaffle didn't get too far, a Bludger suddenly turned up out of nowhere, slapping off against the Quaffle, whizzing off and the Quaffle changed course—

Harry hurriedly glanced up and grabbed onto his broom more tightly when he saw both team's Beaters slugging it out mercilessly just above him, back and forth and as he watched Pergerine hunch over as the Bludger rammed straight into his stomach, his face very clearly showing his discomfort—

"OH! OH!"

A breath of excitement went through the crowd as the Quaffle began sailing almost in slow motion towards Bletchley's right off the deflection, gasping and praying and wishing—

But, somehow, Bletchley managed to shift his weight on the broom and clasp his thigh around the broom, and thrust to his right, throwing everything behind the broom and a groan of disappointment went through the crowd as Bletchley's fat finger-tip pushed the Quaffle away—

"CRACKING SAVE BY BLETCHLEY—HE'S OBVIOUSLY REALIZED HE PLAYS GARBAGE—"

"JORDAN!" The crowd laughed.

Harry scowled and scooped up the Quaffle—

He yelped as he saw a Bludger coming well and truly for him and he froze in the sky for a second before shaking his head and steering his broom away, making an arch to the left but the Bludger still clipped him, turning his broom inside-out and he was forced to toss the Quaffle back to Bletchley.

He did a little loop to get his bearings back and Warrington was in possession of the Quaffle now, before slinging it to the other side of the pitch to Flint, unmarked, mostly because they were still in their own half and Ravenclaw apparently didn't fancy pressing them that high—

Flint made out Harry flying out of the backfield and just flicked the Quaffle his way, dashing away. Harry plucked it out of the sky, waving everybody forward, even Pucey—

"OH, POTTER WANTS TO TEST EGWU AND RAVENCLAW'S DEFENCE, I THINK—"

The crowd spurred him on, shrieking at him, booing him, screeching at him—

He easily avoided a Bludger that was true for his ribcage, only to get trapped in a double-team when he returned his eyes to the pitch—

Jordan laughed. "THEY'RE PREPARED FOR YOU, POTTER—"

Harry set his jaw, steering his broom around to evade the double-team but they followed him, pushing him towards the touchline, cutting off all angles for him to make a pass, except the back-pass to Keeper Bletchley but he didn't want to do that, and he couldn't even see over them to make a pass to one of his Chasers—

Desperate, his teeth clenched and his face hard with concentration, his forehead tinted with sweat as he breathed heavily, he faked a backhand fling pass and luckily, one of them bought it—

He whirled about to go one-on-one with Davies with the few seconds that he'd bought himself with the other Chaser off his tail, extending his right arm and as Davies swiped at the Quaffle, he switched the Quaffle behind his back into his left hand and sped past him, a wry smile playing on his lips—

The crowd was silent, sucking in a huge breath—

Jordan, as well, was struggling to recap that piece of brilliance without giving him too much credit. "MERLIN—SHOCKING DEFENDING THERE FROM DAVIES, GOT CAUGHT TOO SQUARE MAKING IT ALL TOO EASY FOR POTTER—"

It was four-on-one now, but the Ravenclaw Beaters tried to rescue the day, Harry heard the Bludger roaring towards him and quickly pulled at his broom, allowing the jet-black ball to go whizzing past him—

He pushed his broom forward, the Ravenclaw Chaser backed up all the way into the Scoring area, he saw with a chuckle. Flint was keeping him busy, trying to drag him off to the hoop on the Keeper's right so Harry could go in behind him but the Chaser wasn't buying it, remaining glued to Flint, spreading his arms out, making himself big—

So Harry faked a pass to Pucey, hovering just to the left, outside the Scoring Area, arms outstretched to receive the Quaffle, but the Ravenclaw Chaser didn't buy that one either, still stubbornly on Flint's tail—

So Harry tried Warrington and the Chaser suddenly dashed after Warrington, leaving Flint free in the Scoring Area—

And Harry pulled his arm back just before the Quaffle went towards their Tactician Chaser, and flung it right down the middle of the Scoring Area to Flint, who whirled about with a swift spin—

"FLINT, ONE-ON-ONE WITH EGWU, TAKES AIM—"

Harry frowned at just how far back Flint cocked his arm back, realizing his Captain was going for all power, no technique.

The Quaffle cut through the sky, aim very true for the post on Egwu's right but the Keeper blurred through the sky, reappearing with the Quaffle tucked between his fingers—

The crowd roared their approval, clapping and whistling and Flint looked shocked, his eyes disbelieving that his effort had been saved, hands on his head.

Harry shook his head, turning about, but just then, yet another Bludger came looking for him and he snarled, flipping his broom about so that he hung upside-down in the sky and the Bludger sailed harmlessly over him in a move known as the Sloth Grip Roll—

But when he sat back upright, he saw Pucey and Warrington rushing back to help Bletchley out, hovering in the middle hoop, his nerves clear to see even to Harry, who was just outside the Ravenclaw scoring area still—

Up ahead at the Slytherin scoring area, Davies passed the Quaffle to his Chaser, and he then threw up a lob for Davies, who rushed into the Quaffle broom first and the Quaffle whipped off his broom zipping towards Bletchley and it clipped the metal on the middle post, sailing through—

"DISGUSTING FINISH THERE BY DAVIES—BLETCHLEY HAD NO CHANCE EVEN HAD HE BEEN COMPETENT—"

"JORDAN!"

That piercing, shrill scream of the eagle went off and Harry shuddered, wiping his hands across his robes as he raced back. Bletchley went to collect the Quaffle, his arms raised up in that "not on me, couldn't have done anything about that one!" way.

Harry received the Quaffle with a shrug back at his Keeper and began driving up the pitch. Flint raced ahead, Pucey to his left and Warrington hovered in their half just a little ahead of Harry, not joining the attack—

"Watch out!"

Harry glanced about in wonder, but before he could spot it, a shadow blurred over him and the crowd screamed their approval, cheering loudly as the Ravenclaw Seeker sped away, the Quaffle tucked in his arm—

"WHAT A PLAY! WHAT A PLAY! POTTER'S RACING BACK TO MAKE AMENDS FOR HIS MISTAKE—"

Harry's jaw was set in frustration and his arm began throbbing as he slapped his broom, screaming at it to go faster still because the bloody Seeker was in the Scoring area already and Harry stretched out his arm to deflect the shot maybe, on his tail now—

"20-0 RAVENCLAW!"

Harry hung his head.

The crowd jumped and cried out in delight, the Slytherins even more subdued than normal, slumped and looking resigned in their seats, even the banner of the silver snake looking oddly tame, drooping in the sky.

Harry sighed, going to pluck the Quaffle out of Bletchley's hand. "It's going to be a long afternoon!"

Half an hour later, Harry wiped at his face as he dislodged his broom at the timeout Flint had just called.

"At this rate, I almost wish their Seeker would just catch the Snitch already," Bletchley grumbled in the huddle.

The whole team was hunched over, panting.

Unfortunately, for all their hard work, they had very little to show for it—

"Maybe if you saved a shot or two, we'd be a bit better off than 170-0 down, Miles—"

Bletchley flushed at Flint's words, straightening with indignation. "Maybe if you fucking scored any of the five one-on-one chances Potter handed you on a plate—"

"Egwu's going fucking pro—you're letting a third year fly circles around you, he's already scored ninety fucking points, get it together—"

"Guys!" Warrington called out, looking manic, his hair sticking to his forehead thanks to the sweat. "This isn't going to solve anything—we need to be together, now more than ever!"

"Whatever!" Flint growled. "Let's just get this match over with!"

Lucian and Pergerine just grunted, mounting their broomsticks to get back into the sky, spotting Hooch flying back into the sky, the whistle on her lips.

"Why d'you even waste a time-out then, Flint?" Harry asked, more than a little put-off by Flint's defeated, negative attitude.

Flint didn't answer and Hooch's whistle went off and they were back in the skies.

They couldn't hear each other anymore over the songs that the Ravenclaws were singing, dancing and cheering on their team in delight as they mercilessly tore into them in similar fashion to the eagle nibbling on the neck of the snake in the banner.

A horrible whack sounded to get proceedings started and he rolled his eyes, doing a quick u-turn to evade the Bludger and held out his arms for the Quaffle and Pucey tossed it to him, racing off, but then the Bludger was back and Harry exchanged a quick one-two with Warrington behind him—

The Ravenclaw Seeker raced towards Warrington out of the skies but thankfully, Harry saw him come and warned him, waving his arms in distress and Warrington, in his panic, just flung the Quaffle ahead, not really towards Harry but more to the side and Harry cursed, giving chase after it, having to contend with one of the Ravenclaw Chasers, jaw set strong, making a no-nonsense scowl—

Harry got there first, just by a fraction and flung the Quaffle behind his back and past the Chaser and gave chase, bending out, going around the Chaser, close to the Ravenclaw crowd and the boo's were shuddering and brutal, withering—

"THEY DON'T LIKE POTTER, THESE RAVENCLAWS—" Jordan laughed and the crowd joined him.

But Harry grind his teeth, pushing on, he collected the Quaffle in his arms, the other Chaser dashing to come and meet him—

But Harry lifted up his head and saw Davies horribly positioned against Flint on the other side and Harry didn't think, he just pointed in the open space ahead of Flint, they locked eyes, and Harry cocked his arm back—

"THIS POTTER BLOKE FOR SURE KNOWS HOW TO PASS—FLINT HAS TOTALLY LOST DAVIES—ONE-ON-ONE WITH EGWU—BUT I THINK WE'VE SEEN THIS PLAY OUT BEFORE, ISN'T THAT RIGHT, HOGWARTS?"

The crowd laughed and Harry sneered, pushing and driving his broom on. "Come on, Flint!" he muttered under his breath, slapping the handle of his broom.

Underhand this time, Flint went, Egwu's right hoop—

The crowd was silent for one second as Egwu spread himself across the broomstick, making himself even longer—covering a ludicrously large space—jutting a leg out and the Quaffle bounced off his leg but then it bobbled straight towards Harry, who gathered the Quaffle and took aim for the hoop on Egwu's left—

The boo's rained down on them, but Harry grinned in delight, slapping Flint's waiting palm with everything inside of him and he punched the sky and screamed in celebration.

"AND SLYTHERIN GET ON THE SCOREBORD—ONLY TOOK 'EM THREE QUARTERS OF AN HOUR—"

Harry didn't have time to pay Jordan any mind racing back so that Davies and the Ravenclaw Chasers didn't get a free go at Bletchley—that was how they'd scored most of their goals, after all.

Harry would dribble past the Chasers, and even the Seeker, who was doing this ridiculously odd thing where he was looking high and low for the Snitch but anytime the play was close to him he'd press really quickly and if possible, gift the Ravenclaws possession of the Quaffle.

When the Slytherins created a chance, they were stopped, always, by Egwu, his bulky frame filling up the middle post and inconceivably fast at getting to the other hoops—

But most devastating, without a doubt, was how the Keeper had it in him—Harry saw it play out time and time again live—to fling the Quaffle all the way from his hoops to the Slytherin scoring area at the other end of the field where the Ravenclaw Chasers stood waiting for yet another go at Bletchley.

But this time, Egwu had to go collect the Quaffle and so by the time he'd returned, Harry and Pucey were marking Davies very tighly, Flint was on one of the other Chasers, and Warrington had the last one on lockdown.

The Ravenclaw Chasers were forced to go back to collect a pass from their Keeper, even all the way back to their scoring area but Harry didn't relent with his pressing and neither did Pucey, tailing Davies and when Egwu hurled the Quaffle towards Davies, Harry dashed forward, spread out his arms and dived for the Quaffle, wrapping his arms around it—

"WHAT THE?—STOOGING! STOOGING, HOOCH—" The crowd was of the same mind, wagging their fingers and screaming their disapproval on their feet and brandishing clenched fists—

Harry didn't give a shite, though, whirling about to see Egwu charging out of the hoops, casting quite a shadow, and Davies was waving his arms in front of Harry, trying to block his view but Harry had no interest in going for goal.

He glided to the side and tossed the Quaffle over his shoulder, sailing away with a wry smile as he heard a groan go through the crowd, knowing that Pucey had finished the job.

"RAVENCLAW GOT ROBBED THERE, I TELL YOU, ABSOLUTELY ROBBED—POTTER AND PUCEY WERE IN THE SCORING AREA—OH!"

Harry snorted as Jordan finally seemed to realize that Harry wasn't actually a Chaser, he was just playing as one and so Pucey and him in the Scoring Area didn't actually equate to Stooging.

Egwu was back with the Quaffle again, and they pressed the Ravenclaw Chasers again—

So Egwu just launched the Quaffle over their heads, and Harry snorted—

"Scared to toss it to your Chasers, Egwu?"

But then as Harry turned, he made out the Ravenclaw Seeker totally unmarked, hovering just outside the Scoring Area—

But then a shape emerged over him and Harry gave a delighted smile, performing a quick Sloth Grip Roll to evade the Bludger and he raced back, waving his arm at Bletchley for a pass as the Ravenclaw Seeker climbed up higher into the sky, shaking his head bitterly in his failure—

"NICE TRY THERE BY THE RAVENCLAW SEEKER, GREAT EFFORT, JUST THWARTED BY A DESPERATE KEEPER WHO KNEW HE COULDN'T HANDLE A ONE-ON-ONE WITH A SEEKER OF ALL THINGS—" The crowd laughed and Harry sneered, receiving the pass from Bletchley.

He was forced to give a pass back to Bletchley and dash off as yet another Bludger came his way, whistling just above him, he took off in a circle from the right, high above the stands and then drifted off to the left, where the changing rooms where—

"QUAFFLE'S WITH WARRINGTON, BACK TO BLETCHLEY, DUNNO WHAT SLYTHERIN'S UP TO OVER HERE—IT'S NOT LIKE RAVENCLAW IS PRESSING THEM—"

Pucey got the Quaffle in his hands and finally, they were able to drive forward.

Harry was being tailed by Davies and as he glanced upwards, he realized that the other Seeker was keeping a close eye on him, as well, frowning down at him, clutching on to his broom with all his strength.

Pucey waved for him to come and they did a quick hand-off around the middle of the pitch, Pucey circling away, Davies still chasing him but Harry drew sharply at his broom, and Davies couldn't keep up, swaying dangerously on his broom, fumbling desperately for his handle, giving Harry lots of room and time.

He spied Flint and Warrington crossing each other closer in a zig-zag up ahead, just outside the scoring area and they timed it expertly well, splitting up just after they crossed parts, each heading towards opposite corners of the scoring area—

The Ravenclaw Chasers defending them all went after Warrington in the left corner, forgetting all about Flint in the right corner, holding his arms out in for a pass—

But he was a bit too far off, Harry realized, gritting his teeth in his frustration. He picked out Pucey gliding into the acres of space that had been opened in the middle ahead of him, just outside the scoring area—with the Ravenclaw Chasers chasing after Warrington on the left—and Harry unleased a bullet of a pass to Pucey—

The Ravenclaw Chasers glanced over their shoulders at the breath that their supporters sucked in—

Both Chasers rushed towards Pucey, looking alarmed, waving their arms over their head, totally forgetting about Warrington and Flint—

And Pucey noticed that immediately, snapping his fingers at Flint to get his attention and he pointed to the scoring area with his index finger and then threw the Quaffle over his head to Fint—

He turned around, one-on-one with Egwu—

"THREE STRAIGHT FOR SLYTHERIN NOW, JUST WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!"

Ravenclaw called a time-out and the Slytherins high-fived each other and bumped shoulders excitedly, Harry finally hearing hissing and whooping from the Slytherins in the stands.

He could even see Blaise pointing at him over and over, juggling an imaginary bag of coins, beaming brightly and Theodore palmed his face, Tracey waving her scarf around like a mad-woman and jumping in her seat as Greengrass watched on looking scandalized, and Merula was screaming her head off and he couldn't be sure but he thought he made out Farley in the group of girls singing.

Oh, Slytherin,

Keeper, save the string,

Chasers, score the ring

Beaters, make us sing

Seeker, win the thing

Mate, your House was born in a bin

Slytherin for the win

Beaters, aim for chin

Slytherin is the King!

We know it's a win!

Never mind all the gin

Cause you were born in a bin

That is why we'll win

It makes us sing

Slytherin is the King!

Harry whooped, punching the sky and clapping his hands at the song. His teammates applauded, as well, whistling and waving back at the Slytherin section and now, you could hear the hissing and screaming of the Slytherins and Harry was nodding to himself as they began the song again.

"It's good, isn't it?"

"Brilliant! Who wrote that?"

"Not sure if I'm being honest—"

Hooch blew her whistle for them to go back in the sky and Flint pulled Harry apart really quickly as the Team all kicked off back into the skies.

"Catch me that Snitch!" He held Harry's eyes, letting his seriousness shine brightly and then took off back into the skies.

Egwu had the Quaffle, and they pressed the Ravenclaw Chasers in their own half again and Egwu cocked his arm back—

"WELL, I SUPPOSE EGWU WOULD PREFER TO GIVE AWAY POSSESSION THAN CONCEDE AGAIN… NEVER MIND THAT IT'S RATHER HARD TO CONCEDE WHEN YOU HAVE THE QUAFFLE—"

But as they watched, Egwu had just tossed the Quaffle to the Ravenclaw Seeker who was hovering in the middle of the pitch, everybody having forgotten about him. The Seeker took off, the Quaffle tucked underneath his arm and the crowd cheered him on excitedly, Harry and the rest of the Chasers speeding back to cover—

"What the?—No, Bletchley—"

Their Keeper had surged out of his hoops to meet the Ravenclaw Seeker even though he was still outside the scoring area.

"WHAT'S THIS? BLETCHLEY CHARGES OUT—"

The Quaffle sailed past their Keeper and Harry felt his voice get caught up in his throat as he watched the Quaffle very truly heading for the hoops—

CLANK!

The Slytherins cheered as Pucey plucked the Quaffle out of the sky, off it clanking against the hoop—

"NOW, IF THAT'S NOT PURE LUCK, I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS—"

Harry chuckled, steering his broom to go and meet the pass Pucey threw for him, contested by the Ravenclaw Seeker, his long face pulled in a fierce scowl—

But Harry was swift off the catch, turning and winding past him, but Davies swiped at him off the turn and the Quaffle popped out of his hand and they raced after the Quaffle over to the left close to the changing rooms—

And Harry poked the Quaffle further ahead, going around Davies and his broom finally won out, and he drove forward ahead of Davies, collecting the Quaffle and he glanced up—

"FLINT PUTS ON THE JETS AND POTTER—PIN-POINT ACCURATE PASS—OH, WAIT, SEEKER'S GONE INTO A DIVE—"

Harry drew his broom around, his head cocking about, the noise level blaring suddenly once again in his ear, deafening really, searching desperately for the Ravenclaw Seeker but then suddenly, he was spinning around very fast as the air rushed out of him and his teeth were gritted in his pain as his eyes watered.

He wiped at his eyes, hands tight around the broom—

"I THINK THIS IS LEGIT, WIZARDS AND WITCHES—THIS ISN'T A FAKE AND POTTER IS A WAYS OFF—" The crowd guffawed loudly.

Harry blew out a breath as his eyes finally cleared and he drove off, finally spotting the Ravenclaw close to the ground at the Ravenclaw scoring area, and he dashed off, giving reckless chase, furiously swiping at the hair in his eyes blowing at his face—

He ducked underneath a Bludger, and then began a sharp dive downwards, he was still a ways off and he could see the Seeker still ahead of him stretching out his hands and he slapped his broom, crying out in desperation through gritted teeth, "Come on!"

And then, suddenly, the Seeker swayed on his broom, floundering for the handle of his broom to retain his balance and Harry realized that the Snitch had jumped to the left and he thrust his body forward, driving his whole being behind the broom and he surged forward with a sudden acceleration and now, he was at the tail of the Seeker's broomstick—

And then, the Snitch zapped upwards and Harry jerked his broom after it and now, he could hear the wings flattering and whirring as it desperately tried to evade him but Harry raised his arm to pluck it out of the sky—

He turned around, frowning because his arm didn't seem to obey his wish, he couldn't move his arm only to see that the Seeker was holding on to his arm and then, he gave a sharp, forceful tug and his arm came free but the Snitch had gotten time to run away from him a bit—

And Harry set his jaw, thrusting forward, wrapping his legs tightly around the broom, pushing further and there was a gap building between him and the Ravenclaw Seeker, he could hear the flattering sound of the Snitch once again and it whirred, and buzzed in the sky, suddenly jerking to Harry's left in a last ditch effort to get away from him—

But he was alert and his hand shot up and closed around the Snitch and suddenly, it was quiet, the crowd sucking in a breath and then, Harry rose his arm up, the Snitch still struggling within his grasp, his grin ear-splitting as the Slytherins exploded in cheers and hissing, his Team raced towards him, their eyes shining and sparkling joyously, arms raised over their heads—

Harry was grinning widely for the rest of the day, so much so that his cheeks began to hurt—

"Magnificent flying out there, Potter!" Terrence complimented Harry, coming to see him in the changing rooms.

Harry grinned and gave him a salute, going for a shower now.

Blaise and Theodore caught up with him in the changing rooms an hour later, the Team's celebrations had taken that long, all of them huddled around the benches, laughing about some of their best plays—

"Cracking finish, Flint—high-left post, no chance, even for Egwu—"

"Speak for yourself, Potter, some pass—"

"So much for we can't beat the 'Claws, eh?" Warrington cut in with a cheeky wink at Harry and they all burst out laughing.

They probably would have lounged there for much longer but Flint reminded them that there was probably a party going on in the Dungeons with plenty of people, especially "birds" just waiting to reward them for their hard-earned victory—

"Too right, Flint, too right you are," Pergerine said, chortling heartily as he hurried for the exit after Flint. "Catch you in the Dungeons, lads."

Pergerine didn't have all that long to wait, Harry was left all alone in the changing rooms in just about a quarter of an hour and then Blaise and Theodore wandered in, looking confused.

"Why're you still in here—everyone else—"

"Yeah, I'm just relaxing—"

"You have showered right?" Blaise took a seat across from Harry.

He nodded, stretching out his arms and legs with an easy smile, pushing to his feet. "Yep!"

"Smashing game by the way—" Blaise said, leaning forward to punch Harry playfully in his arm who chuckled, making his way out of the changing room.

"Epic! Legit epic is all I have to say about it—"

"Wicked good, even a non-Quidditch fanatic could appreciate it—"

Theodore nodded, his face brightening as the giggles shook him, having to straighten himself against the wall. "And Blaise—the Twins—tell 'em—"

Harry frowned. "What?"

Blaise's face brightened, his eyes opening suddenly and he snapped his fingers. "Sodding Salazar—you don't even know yet, do you?" He laughed heartily.

Then, they told Harry.

"Prank was brilliant, mate—sensational!"

"So, the Howler comes in, right—and you should have heard the silence—" Blaise snickered.

"You should have seen the look on their faces as their owl came in—" Theodore did this shocked, disbelieving face, his mouth slightly open and Harry laughed.

"Then, the envelope lands in front of him—and one of them, I think it was Fred—"

"It was George, I'm telling you—"

"Whatever, doesn't matter, anyhow, but this bloke right—" The giggles took over Blaise and Theodore chuckled at Harry's bemused expression.

"He tried to burn the Howler—you know, to destroy it—"

Harry snorted, slapping his knee. "Like we wouldn't think about that—I told you, making that letter fireproof was clever—"

Blaise snorted. "I'll give you that, no issue, you should've seen him—Mate, I wish we'd taken photo's—"

Harry snapped his fingers. "We should buy a camera—"

"Great idea," but then suddenly, Theodore frowned. "Won't it look suspicious if you always have your camera with you when something odd is happening?"

"Dunno—we could figure something out—"

"It's not important," Blaise said, sounding excited and waving his wand, almost dismissing that topic. "So the Howler goes off, and the Twins are frowning hard—" Blaise broke down into laughter once again, bent over as they finally slipped back into the dungeons.

"Fred, George," Theodore mimicked the high-pitch voice of the Weasley Mother. "This is going to be the first and last warning we give you…" Harry laughed.

"Brilliant…"

"Does it really well, doesn't he?" Blaise's eyes were twinkling brightly as they turned the corner.

"Leave that young woman alone—Angelina deserve more than a pair of blighters who can barely pass their second-year examinations—" Theodore broke down in laughter, tears flowing down his cheeks. Harry sniggered.

"You know the funniest thing? The Weasley can't even say it's not true—'cause we have their exams records." Blaise tittered, beaming at himself.

"You should have seen everyone just laughing at them—"

"It was brilliant, Harry—just brilliant—Victoria!"

They'd arrived in front of the patch of stone wall that acted as the entrance to the Dungeons, and it slid away to allow them inside at the password.

Harry couldn't help it, his lips stretched his face into a smile and he felt oddly content, walking past the dim light, he found it all enchanting, the stony scenery in their Dungeons, the gleaming, glinting green light orbs, barely lighting up the place—

He was home—

"You know what's even better about the whole thing?"

"That we didn't get caught?" Harry said with a wry smile.

That drew Blaise up short, his eyes going to the top of his head as he thought about it for a second. "Apart from that…" Harry shook his head, glancing to Theodore, wondering if he knew what it was about—

Blaise brought out a fat scarlet bag, jiggling with coins, wearing a large grin—

Harry burst out laughing.

They'd arrived in the main part of the Dungeons now, and music was blaring overhead and several groups clustered together in all corners, each group surrounding a Quidditch player—

As Harry watched, Flint and Farley brought their lips together as the crowd around them whooped, cheering them on and Harry shook his head, peeling his head and eyes away with a cringe—

Only to see Merula running towards him, her hair bouncing up and down, her arms flailing about—

"Fantastic match, Potter," she praised him with a blinding smile, ruffling his hair and Harry flushed at her praise—

"POTTER!"

The rest of Slytherin had noticed his return now, and before he knew it, he was above Flint's shoulders, perched not all too stably, swaying a bit as his Captain raised a toast in his name, a huge crowd of Slytherins around him.

"To Harry Potter—the fucking best Seeker at Hogwarts and Slytherin's finest!"


	24. Hogwarts for Plebs

"Got to admit you're a tough bugger, you know!" Some Ravenclaw exclaimed, shaking his head at Harry, smiling at Harry in amazement.

"Not gonna lie—I'm really looking forward to Slytherin versus Hufflepuff now," Cedric Diggory told him when they run into each other in the loo.

Harry snorted. "Can't imagine why—you'll just return to your Basement in tears—"

"Hey, upsets happen all the time—" Harry laughed and changed the topic: "Have you heard? The Weasley Twins got sent a Howler by their own mother!"

Some Ravenclaw red-head girl wearing a dung-bomb necklace stopped him in the corridor and gave Harry a peck on the cheek with a small smirk, leaving Harry properly confused as she wandered off.

"Get lost, Karasu!" came Merula's voice just before the girl disappeared past the corridor and the girl turned around, wearing a small frown. "What? Isn't there anyone in Ravenclaw you can go and torment with your presence?!" she finished with a nasty sneer, her hands on her hips, drumming her black combat boots against the floor.

Harry frowned, wondering what the history between Merula and this girl—Karasu—was. But when he asked, Merula brushed his question away, ruffling his hair playfully.

"Hush, hun—just stay away from her, alright?"

Harry agreed and Merula dragged him back to the Dungeons. "I want you to meet someone important—my best friend".

"At last, I've heard so much about you," Ismelda purred at him, scratching his chin with her long nails, making Harry step a couple of steps back in alarm as she cackled in delight, her long dark hair coming to fall between her eyes as her body shook, her green eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Brilliant, Potter—just brilliant!" A blonde-haired girl waved at him as he passed by the Hufflepuff table after breakfast the next day. She must have been at least a sixth year or even a seventh year. The group of girls around her tittered quietly as Harry flushed, realizing that she was incredibly beautiful. "Awww, he's so cute!"

"Mate, you know Haywood?" Pucey marvelled at him at practice that evening.

"Who?"

"Penny Haywoord—she's been telling the whole school that "Potter's so cute"

Harry flushed a horrible red that extended all the way to his neck. "What? She said—"

"Yeah, that's why I was wondering how you know her—I didn't know you hung around with the most popular girl at school, Potter—"

Harry shrugged, thinking back to their only encounter. Okay, since then, he'd seen her nodding at him twice but he could hardly claim that he knew her. All he knew about her was that she was really pretty.

"Introduce me, why don't you? Her sister, Beatrice, is in my year, you know…" Pucey whistled, wagging his brows at Harry just as Flint and Warrington burst through the door into the changing rooms, as well.

At dinner the following night, Harry was one of the last Slytherins to leave the table, basking in the praise. Finally, even he couldn't find a good reason to remain at the table—Pike telling him he was the best Seeker at Hogwarts had gotten old—

Blaise spit out the pumpkin juice in his mouth, blinking at Harry, slack-jawed as he wiped at his mouth as loud, uncontrolled laughter burst out all around the Hall. "Mate, what the—where are your clothes?"

It was hard not to make out the Weasley Twins almost falling off their benches as they pointed at Harry laughing, tears free-falling from their faces. Those two pricks almost never remained so long at dinner, Harry glared menacingly at them, bringing a hand to cover his exposed chest as snickers exploded around even the Slytherin table.

And with that, Harry's good cloud from winning Slytherin the match was gone.

"Report them," Theodore suggested.

Harry was strongly against it, though. "No, Snape'll never believe me, anyways…" He'd been in an even fouler mood than usual lately, limping around the castle with a dark scowl. Just the other day he'd given Weasley and his gang of blighters a week of detention just for turning up three seconds late to class—which Blaise had apparently been behind.

"He'd probably just reward the Twins for getting one over you," Blaise agreed, shrugging when Theodore glared at him.

Harry shuddered at the memory of his clothes burning away, saying a quiet word of thanks that the spell—whatever spell it had been, and Moony had yet to respond with his thoughts on what spell it could've been—hadn't extended to his underwear, imagine if his willy had been—

A shudder went through him, and he run a hand across his face.

"You alright, mate?"

Harry grit his teeth, remembering the laughter that resonated around him, even the few that had been present in the Great Hall.

"No!"

A week later, Fred and George Weasley got into an all-out brawl, much to the entertainment and amusement of almost all at Hogwarts, in the middle of the Great Hall "for the right to have Angelina!"

Harry smirked quietly to himself as McGonagall incredulously stormed towards the Twins, subtracted "thirty points each", slapping on an extra three detentions to the tally of the Weasley twins, as Harry exchanged a quiet fist-bump under the table with Blaise.

He took a sip of his pumpkin juice. "I hope nobody checks their juice."

Blaise chuckled. "You and me both, mate—I made that potion."

Theodore rolled his eyes.

A few days after that, he was getting ready for the day when he glanced into the mirror and his eyes flared open in shock, and he moaned in horror, touching his skin softly—

"No, no, no! This can't be!"

Harry skipped class that day, locking himself inside the bathroom, and when Malfoy furiously barged in with the Unlocking Charm—

"Dunno who you think you are, Potter, locking decent purebloods like myself out of my own bathroom—Argh!"

Harry used the Knockback Jinx against him, locking himself up again in the bathroom and nobody bothered him again after that.

Well, Flint came to knock on the door and tell him that he wouldn't stand for Harry to miss practice that evening but after that, he was left well and truly alone.

He waited for everyone to leave for class—and waited to be sure that everyone had truly left and then Harry crept out of the bathroom, fishing for his Invisibility Cloak for a long trudge up to the Infirmary—

"Are you allergic to anything, Potter?" Madam Pomfrey asked him with a frown, turning his face to the left as she inspected the boils that had spread out across his face and as she inspected him, one of the boils exploded and the pus sprayed over the matron.

Harry scowled, the image of two red-headed boys flickering through his mind. "More a pair of twins than anything…" He gasped in pain as yet another of the boils burst on his neck, his eyes watering slightly.

"This is really getting out of hand!" Theodore commented as Harry brought them up to speed on what had happened to him in the morning. "It's like a prank war or something—"

Blaise straightened in his seat. "You've got to respond then, or else they win—"

"Should you, though?" Theodore shrugged at Blaise's sneer. "I mean, how long can you honestly keep this up?"

But as Harry glanced across the Hall and spotted the Weasley Twins simpering at him, fanning themselves as if they were feeling hot, faintly and delicately touching their skins as if there were boils there, he felt his very blood boiling and his fists balling before he even realized what was even happening.

"Long. Very long."

A week later, it was a wonderful day for some Quidditch.

The skies were clear, just one or so clouds to speak of. The sun glared at them from high up in the sky, the wind smelled like grass and broomsticks and the excitement and anticipation was heavy in the skies mixed with the sweat and Harry, himself, was sitting down with a wide smile on his face as he listened to Jordan announce the Gryffindor Team, two glaring omissions—

"I still can't believe the Weasley Twins aren't going to be playing!" Penny was saying as the Hufflepuffs politely put their hands together as the Gryffindor Seeker streaked out into the sky.

Harry was sitting with the Hufflepuffs for the match. He'd managed to put in a word about Pucey in for his Chaser and now, the two were chatting away, Beatrice giggling and even right now, was playfully slapping a smirking Pucey's shoulder.

Penny's only requirement for carrying Harry's message to Beatrice—"sit with me during the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match?"—was that Harry, himself sit with her and her girlfriends: "we can get to know each other better; I'm sure there's so much more to Harry Potter!"

"It's for such a daft reason, as well—" One of her girlfriends were saying.

Another one, she had snapped her fingers, mhming. "I heard someone poured Itching Powder in their laundry—"

"I heard poor Angelina finally had enough of them both and told them straight-up that she'd never go out with any of them and the heart-break was too much to handle for them—"

Harry snorted.

The girls paused, looking at Harry, blinking at him curiously.

"What d'you think happened, Harry?" Penny asked, her bright blue eyes shining with a strong will to know his opinion.

Harry shrugged. "No clue, actually…" The girls all sighed in disappointment, peeling their eyes away to the game, and Harry cheered along with them—going a step further than his fellow Slytherins seated a bit further down barely clapping their hands as the Hufflepuff Team was introduced—his mind going back to a couple of nights ago…

Blaise, Theodore and he had been out after curfew setting up a Tripping Spell right before the staircase for the Weasley Twins that Theodore had been raving over for the past week and Harry and Blaise had finally relented—"Alright, we'll test it out, you Naughty Boy!"

He shared a quiet chuckle to himself as he observed Jae Kim and Ben Cooper—the two seventh-year Beaters replacing the Weasley Twins, still recovering in the Infirmary—collide into each other and the Bludger ram straight into the nose of the Korean, Jae Kim.

"Holy Helga! I think we might actually win this, you know!" Penny gushed, clapping her hands together excitedly as she rose to her feet to cheer her Team on, setting the rest of the Hufflepuffs off and soon, Harry was glancing about in wonder at the Hufflepuffs clapping and whistling at their Team and jeering the Gryffindors, going toe-to-toe with the Gryffindor crowd shout for shout, decibel for decibel.

Harry watched on in amazement, and he could hardly do anything about it as Penny stretched out her arm and pulled Harry to his feet, grabbing a hold of his palm and forcing him to clap and cheer on with the other 'Puffs.

"It's in your best interest, as well, that Hufflepuff win, you know!"

It seemed they really believed they were going to win this—and as Harry watched, one of the Hufflepuff Chasers weaved away from a neatly struck Bludger from Ben Cooper and managed to squeeze the Quaffle past Wood on his left post and the Hufflepuffs exploded in cheers, jumping and screaming their heads off.

"Hufflepuff for the Win!" they sang.

They didn't win.

But Harry still got properly slapped by Flint later that evening back in the Dungeons for sitting with the Hufflepuffs but for a totally different reason than he'd expected.

"Did you see Diggory, Potter?—I hope you were taking some serious notes because we take on Hufflepuff 29th April, you know, and this year's Qudditch Cup is mine!"

Cedric had played a sick match. And Harry waited outside the Hufflepuff changing rooms to tell him personally after the game.

"Thanks, Harry!" Cedric clapped him around the back, smiling in appreciation.

The lanky Hufflepuff had done his very all to extend the game as long as possible, dashing to the other end of the pitch whenever he first spotted the Snitch, pulling the Gryffindor Seeker with him.

And when the Gryffindor Seeker spotted the Snitch first and gave chase—which happened just once all match—Cedric defended expertly until the Snitch disappeared again.

Penny had been far from pleased with Cedric, griping that he was extending the match for no reason.

She had a good point. It became quite apparent—an hour or so into the match—that Gryffindor was by far the better Team, even if Hufflepuff for sure had the better Seeker. The scoreboard read 60-10.

Harry got what Cedric had been trying to do: cut down some of the deficit they'd suffered at the hands of Ravenclaw, give Hufflepuff a shot at the Quidditch Cup when they played Slytherin in April.

He explained this patiently to Penny—

"I just want to win one game this year!" she grumbled, huffing, throwing her arms up in frustration. "Is that so much to ask?!"

The rest of the Hufflepuff was so rubbish that Cedric had been forced to just catch the Snitch about three hours into the game to spare Hufflepuff's blushes.

Hufflepuff had lost but at least the scoreboard was respectable to look at in the end: 230-170.

Harry grabbed onto Flint's arm to hold him back from leaving. "Wait—so you don't mind that I sat with the Hufflepuffs for the game?"

Flint drew his head back at Harry like the question threw him off. "No—I don't care 'bout your social life, Potter, just win me matches and it's all bril' between us." He made to leave but then paused suddenly, giving Harry a searching, imploring look. "Good on you, though, getting cozy with Haywood—I'd shag the shite out of her if I could, but I guess she likes 'em really young—"

"It's not like that," Harry protested, feeling his neck go red.

Flint chortled heartily. "I'm having a laugh—Her sister's probably more in your age group, isn't she?"

Harry shrugged, running a hand through his hair. Flint snorted, slapping Harry on the back. "Hmm—yeah but nah, don't give a shite 'bout you sitting with the 'Puffs. Gotta run now, though—saw some things from the 'Puffs I wanna take a look at."

Harry shook his head bemusedly, wondering why Flint tried so hard: they practically had the Quidditch Cup well and truly in the bag. He shared his thoughts with Blaise and Theodore just a bit outside the circle of first-years gathered around a table in the Dungeons.

"Well, it's Flint's first year as Captain—"

"Really?"

Blaise gave Harry a startled look. "Shouldn't you already know that? Being on the Team and all?"

Harry shrugged.

"Anyhow, he probably just wants to get off to a good start as Quidditch Captain, innit?"

Harry just grunted.

"So, was he gutted you sat with the 'Puffs? Seemed quite heated there for a bit…" Theodore smiled a small, comforting smile.

Harry shook his head, chuckling. "No, actually—says he thinks it's brilliant I'm getting closer to Haywood—"

Blaise shook his head, smiling at Harry. "You lucky bugger!"

Harry wasn't feeling all that lucky later that evening.

Blaise and Theodore went off to bed early, declining to go out exploring with him and also to stay up with him until he'd put the full stop to his Charms essay due the next day—"Sorry, mate, haven't slept properly in ages, and besides, we've got that test in Transfiguration first thing tomorrow".

And slowly, but surely, so did Malfoy after an evening whispering and snickering with Montague and Urquhart and playing chess with Pike, giving Harry's ear a flick as he went, taking Crabbe and Goyle with him. Pike, also, trudged down for some rest after them, he understandably didn't see the point in staying up after Malfoy, his chess-opponent, wandered off to bed.

Tracey and Greengrass were suddenly hovering over him, and he saw that the rest of the first-years had all cleared off to bed now. The only people in the Dungeons were a couple of seventh-years, Harry thought he picked out Warrington and a handful of other Slytherins spread around the Dungeons, but he didn't know any of them. He could hear owls hooting outside and it was rather chilly, it must've been rather late.

"So, is it true then? They're all saying that you're going out with Beatrice Haywood." Tracey leaned forward, her eyes dancing with excitement, practically bouncing to hear his answer, Greengrass stood next to her, a small scowl on her face, arms crossed across her chest like she didn't really care to know the answer or care to be standing in front of him right now.

Harry sighed, glancing back down to his assignment. "Who's this they?"

Tracey dismissed his question with a wave. "Never mind that—is it true?"

Harry scowled, glancing up. "Tracey, I'm eleven, she's seventeen!"

Greengrass clapped her hands. "Great—it's not true. Let's get going then!" Greengrass grabbed a hold of Tracey's arm, trying to pull her away to the staircase that led down to the dormitories.

But Tracey pulled her arm free. "That doesn't mean anything—she could just wait for you to graduate and then BAM!"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"So? Are you going out with her? You can tell me, you know—we are friends, aren't we?"

"Yes, Harry—_are_ you going out with her?"

Tracey stopped cold, going stiff, whirling about to see Merula Snyde and Ismelda Murk walking towards him, giving their hips an extra sway and smiling coquettishly. They'd just come in through the stone wall entrance. Tracey's face turned ashen, her eyes flitting about.

"I… er… it's late… Goodnight, Harry." She dragged Greengrass with her to the staircase, Greengrass glancing back at Harry, sitting up in the sofa as the two seventh-year girls stood over him, looking down at him, looking far from impressed.

"What? Tongue-tied now? You weren't tongue-tied when you were with the 'Puffs now, were you?"

Harry let go off his quill, glancing up with a small scowl and small sigh. "I was helping out my mate, Pucey… He likes her younger sister, so I asked Penny if she could set up something at the match," Harry explained further when the girls remained blank-faced. "But Penny asked that I sit with her and her friends for the game if she was going to ask for Pucey—"

"Why?"

Harry shrugged, grabbing a hold of his quill again. "Said she wanted to know who the Boy-Who-Lived actually is."

Merula's scowl deepened, and Ismelda snorted, rolling her eyes.

"I don't like it—"

"She's a half-blood, you know!" Ismelda cut off Merula, picking at her fingernails. She said it as casually as one would announce that the next day was Monday, but a sudden cloud of tension fell on them.

Harry paused, glancing up slowly, feeling his heartrate speed up immediately and he blinked. "Is she…?"

Merula took a step forward now, cupping his face in her hands. "This is why you should always remain with us, so you don't do foolish things—like associate with half-bloods—"

"But I'm half-blood myself!" Merula and Ismelda suddenly froze, glancing at each other and something passed through them and Harry gulped, feeling the hairs on his neck stand and his calves tightened, strained, and he smacked his lips, feeling his throat dry up all of a sudden.

"It's different, honey…" Merula rubbed his cheek, her eyes very serious and hard. "You're in Slytherin—"

"And besides," Ismelda cut in with relish, her smirk vicious. "Your mother was a witch—regardless of how she got her magic…" Harry frowned, wondering what that was about. "But Haywood…" Ismelda snorted, her face twisting into a cruel sneer. "They say her father's a Muggle, you know!" She snorted, looking disgusted as she even spoke the words. "A Muggle, can you even imagine?"

Harry squirmed in his seat. He couldn't help but think back to Lisa, Billy… All his muggle friends…

"Yeah…" he said, feeling his stomach clench uncomfortably, and it felt like he was chewing paper in his mouth.

"Stay away from her, would you?" Merula brought his head to her stomach, massaging his head as she embraced him. "She's more trouble than she's worth."

A week later, Harry was staring out of the window in the dormitories, his hands on his head, Blaise shaking his head in disbelief as they watched the snow pour down from the skies.

"Well, that's that then!" Theodore said without even a hint of disappointment as he turned back to his bed, flicking his book open.

"How're we gonna get the Weasleys back now?" Harry moaned.

The Weasleys had been released from the Hospital Wing a few days back and they'd struck back with a vengeance, getting Itching Power in his clothes. They spent the day following him around, asking him if he felt the itch, enjoying Harry's internal struggle not to please them, though he gave in a couple of times when it was simply unbearable.

The memory made him scowl and he clenched his fists.

"Relax! This is just March's way of letting you know that spring is here!"

"Stuff it, Naughty Boy!"

It was weird but the weather did turn, gifting them longer days and a quiet wind.

"Told you!" Theodore couldn't help but brag to them constantly about how he'd correctly predicted the turning weather tide. Not even when Blaise snapped his legs together with the Leg-Locker curse forcing him to hop around the dormitory—"thanks for teaching me the spell, Harry!"—did Theodore stop reminding them that he'd been right.

The sun was always just hiding behind the few clouds that remained so the skies were just a deeper shade of blue and in the evenings, thunder crackled and cackled but very little rain fell. The trees turned green, that rich smell filling his nostrils and one afternoon late in March, Penny asked him to join her and friends by the lake.

"Can't—I have Quidditch and then detention right after."

She gasped in shock. "Detention? What for?"

"Didn't turn in an essay for McGonagall," Harry responded with a shrug.

Penny nodded, her face brightening and she looked slightly judgmental. "Ah yes, that'll get you detention for sure. So, you're the one Diego's supervising today, then?"

"Who?"

"Diego Caplan… he's Head Boy!" A weird smile took over her face, lighting up even her eyes and even a small flush came over her and Harry frowned. "I'll tell him to go easy on you—maybe make it a fun session—"

"Thank you!"

Penny chuckled down at him, raising a hand to adjust her now braided hair. "You're welcome! He's Hogwarts' reigning Duelling Champion, you know—maybe he can teach you one or two spells, ask him!"

Harry didn't have the energy to do any duelling by the time he'd gotten to detention after practice. Flint was working him hard, having three defenders tailing him every practice session—

"Diggory's a fucking beast at defending Seekers—he'll probably gollop your scrawny self if you don't train for him."

Flint had even tried to force a weight-lifting program on Harry but Lucian and Pergerine had stepped on in his behalf, letting Flint know that he was working Harry just a tad too much, so his Captain had dropped the weight-lifting lark.

"Nice to meet you, Potter."

Diego Caplan turned out to be a very friendly, helpful and reasonable fellow.

He didn't even bat an eye when Harry limped into the classroom they were having detention in on the third floor a quarter of an hour late. He was just chewing an apple, humming quietly to himself as Harry explained that Flint really was a deranged maniac, nodding like he wasn't really surprised at anything Harry said.

The Head-Boy placed a Numbing Charm on Harry's ankle, conjuring a ice-pack to wrap around his bruised ankle—

"Thanks, really appreciate it!"

They spent the rest of the evening discussing how Harry was finding Hogwarts so far—

"Can't lie—I can't complain much!" Harry laughed.

The olive-skinned boy chuckled. "I can imagine—Seeker in your first-year… the stuff of dreams, that is. Penny seems really taken by you, as well—maybe I should keep my eye on you, little tyke—"

"Wait what? Why?" Harry asked with a frown.

Diego stood up from his chair. "'Cause she's my girlfriend, and literally, all the girls in seventh-year think you're the cutest thing ever—but come on, let's go, your detention's over, curfew starts in like ten minutes!"

It was dark outside, and there was an odd quietness to the castle that had Harry frowning as Diego walked him back to the Dungeons. He was grateful to hear birds screeching and owls hooting in the night and even the odd light flashing through windows, almost following them, filled him with peace, reassuring him that there were indeed people in the castle.

They run into Snape, and Harry couldn't help but notice that he was still limping. The man reserved a filthy glare for Harry and stalked off.

"Is he still limping?"

Diego shrugged as they turned into the dungeons. "Must have been some magical beast that injured him—it's the only way the limp would have lasted that long."

Blaise and Theodore were still in the Dungeons, though they were packing up to go down to the dormitories. Malfoy was up in the Dungeons, as well, playing Exploding Snap with Montague, Urquhart and Pike so Harry waited till they were on the stairs down to the dorms before he told them about what Diego had said.

"But we're at Hogwarts—there aren't any magical beasts here to bite him—"

"That's not true—the Giant Squid's venom is not lethal but it can paralyze a dozen grown men—"

"Say what now?" Blaise blinked and Harry, himself, felt a jolt go through him when he heard the news. "The Giant Squid is poisonous?"

Theodore snorted. "You have no idea—you really should read Hogwarts: A History—"

Blaise groaned. "Not this again—" Harry laughed.

Theodore harrumphed. "Or maybe he went to the Forbidden Forest and got bit by an Acromantula—but that's unlikely, he'd have lost his whole leg!" Harry gave a startled laugh at the casual, matter-of-fact way Theodore told them all this.

But as he snuggled deeper into his pillow and the rushing sound of the wind slapping against the windows drifted past his ears, a shudder went through him as an image of three heads, slobbering at their mouths, joined together at the neck, flitted before his eyes and they growled, lunging forward, jaws open—all three of them and teeth especially sharp and waiting and begging to catch some flesh—and he sat up in his bed, drenched in a pool of sweat, his heart racing and panting heavily.

He glanced around, finding it was dark and the owls were hooting merrily, nothing was amiss. He wiped his clammy hands against his sheets, and then fumbled at his nightstand for his wand, holding it tight to his chest.

His heart slowly slowed down and before long, he wasn't panting anymore and he lowered his head back down to the pillow just as a loud snorting snore went off and he drifted away to sleep with a small smile on his face.


	25. Expectations vs Reality

Harry smacked his lips contently, smiling a wide smile as he lowered his glass of milk. "So, who's up for some exploring tonight?"

Blaise gave him a wicked smirk. "You know I'm in!"

Harry laughed.

"So, how about you, Theo—"

Blaise snorted, stretching to the middle of the table for another batch of toast and butter. "Dunno why you're even asking—we all know he's a Naughty Boy!" Harry laughed at the on-going joke between them two and they high-fived.

Theodore sniffed, thumping his nose at them. "How d'you suddenly have all this free time?"

Harry smiled, taking another swig of his milk.

Merula had called a halt to their late-night "tutoring"—

"It's April now, I've got to study for the N.E's—you'll understand in about seven years."

Harry didn't understand the sudden panic that had overtaken the fifth-years and seventh-years.

Theodore returned back to the Dungeons from the library one evening with a huff, looking mighty disgruntled as he slammed his rucksack into the ground, startling one of the Carrow twin sisters out of her napping in the sofa. "Library's packed, there's no space—there are seventh-years and fifth-years everywhere."

He almost regretted never actively making an effort to go with Penny when she invited him to the lake with all her friends.

The offers had stopped coming and these days, when Harry saw her in the corridors, her head was always in some book or the other. She barely had it in her to flash him a smile, and the other day, Harry had seen her walking into the Great Hall, her hair looking like a nest, it was crazy.

He wasn't complaining all too much—

Mostly because the Weasley Twins had filled in that time almost too well!

Just last week, Harry had spent hours trying to master the Hair Loss Curse but he'd ended up bungling up the spell horribly to hilarious effect: the Weasley Twin were now not only bald, but their eyebrows and eyelashes had fallen off as well.

Harry smiled at the memory, even Diego's stern voice sentencing Harry to a week of detention, his eyes flinty instead of friendly couldn't dampen his good cheer watching the Weasleys' glancing at each other in horror, pointing at each other and covering their faces before scampering away as the onlookers broke down in laughter.

The weather, as well, was rather ideal for late-night exploring. The wind was pleasant, not too wild, just enough to make you smile pleasantly, not too wild such as to blow your cloak away even, or ruffle your robes or like that one time Theodore had almost been carried away by the winds.

Unfortunately, he was hardly the only one who'd noticed the wonderful weather they were getting at Hogwarts.

Their last match against Hufflepuff was coming up and Flint wasn't letting anyone forget it, even for one moment—and Harry was actually getting nervous as the match crept nearer and nearer.

It was another reason Harry was so eager to spend his evenings roaming the castle under his Invisibility Cloak. Almost every night, they discovered new shortcuts or corridors or hidden rooms, marvelling at how connected the castle actually was—

"It's like an enormous labyrinth when you think about it!" Harry enthused.

So, that evening, they were out again—on the third floor this time—casting some spells on the Charms classroom.

It was slow work—they were casting some advanced spells that Moony had pointed Harry to—

_I don't know if you'll be able to cast all these spells, the Stickfast Hex for example is a fourth-year spell but I know you're a brilliant student who won't back down from such a challenge!_

Also, they were laughing and shaking with the giggles as they just imagined how the prank would play out.

"You think Flitwick will let it play out for like a minute or two before freeing them?"

"I sure hope so." Harry laughed.

They realized not long after that none of them had memorized the incantation of the Stickfast Hex, which was supposed to play a main role in their prank. They had a quick argument about who should go grab the book in the hideout behind the mirror on the fourth floor.

Harry won out in the end, and Blaise and Theodore trudged off with a huff and he chuckled.

He very quickly regretted his victory as the winds seemed to suddenly pick up in their intensity, and there was a forceful whoosh and there seemed to be a cackle in the air as the wind surrounded him.

Suddenly, there were leaves dancing in front of his eyes and around him and a shiver went through him.

His eyes flitted around, and he was hugging himself, thinking to himself that Blaise and Theodore had been gone an awfully long time, and staying in front of the Charms classroom all on his own had been a very daft move—

"Legit, a Prefect would just love to see me shivering my arse off over here… Or a Professor—put me in detention with pleasure, those pri—"

"Why, of course, we're to keep the order… are we not?"

Harry gasped, whirling about and he yelped, skidding into a free-fall, his hands flying over his head and he lunged wildly for the wall, panting heavily as he tried to steady himself, sweating slightly and breathing heavily as he scowled into the smirking face of his Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

Harry swore under his breath, a shudder going through him and he averted his eyes. It was difficult to continue looking at the man, he seemed to flicker as he stood, his pale skin almost creamy milk in the darkness, lighter still than ever before, and his purple turban glinted stubbornly in the dark sky, and his twitchy eyes just disturbed Harry.

He ducked his head in what could be considered a nod, eyes still not focusing on him. "Professor."

"Potter…" The man tutted, taking a step closer, and Harry yelped, his hand flying to his forehead, rubbing and furiously massaging his scar, teeth gritted. "You've been avoiding me…"

Harry shook his head, tears staining his eyes as the pain picked up and his eyesight blurred, becoming warped and his knees buckled and he was very grateful for the wall keeping him upright.

"I thought we had an arrangement, where you intentionally provoke detentions from your Head-of-House—"

"He had a change of heart," Harry said through gritted teeth, his breathing now coming through laboured breathing. "What can I say?!"

Quirrell chuckled, a dark, low chuckle that filled Harry with a sense of foreboding and he closed his eyes shut, making a desperate, frustrated growl, willing, almost praying for the pressure in his head to subside, to level, _please_—

"Well…" And Quirrell trailed a finger across his jaw and Harry started as a jolt, a painful jolt went straight through his being and he yelped in pain, his face tightening in pain—

And Quirrell grabbed a hold of his hem and pushed him into the wall, straightening him up as Harry panted and writhed under his hold, shaking his head every which way, trembling and mumbling incoherently.

"I'll be seeing you Thursday, then, Potter—detention!"

Suddenly, Harry slumped to the ground, cold and hard and Harry moaned, twisting and turning as his body, tight and stiff, unclenched and soon, his eyes cleared up—

And he stretched out his arms, clawing at the wall to pull himself up, gasping and huffing and puffing with difficulty, and by the time he managed to right himself up, he was sweating and panting heavily, holding his knees to catch his breath.

And that was how Blaise and Theodore came to find him.

"What's up with you?"

Harry waved their concern off. "Let's just get this over with."

The prank went off perfectly.

Blaise was in the corridor—"just trying to be early for Charms class!"

And he got everything on camera, from the Twins brief confusion at their feet refusing to obey their command. To their amusement: "Mate, this is some shoddy, crude prank!" To their indignation as they continued to tug and their feet didn't dislodge, and come free. To their anger as they took out their wands and screamed "Finite", only for their sneakers to begin melting like a candle melted and even more interesting, as they got more desperate, screaming their "Finite" with more passion and vim, a puddle suddenly appeared over where their legs were stuck and underneath the ground and now, the Twins were sinking and the crowd watched on, their amusement as the Weasley's failure to free themselves turning into panic and they wailed, arms flailing, crying for Flitwick to came save them.

"Mate, it was brilliant!" Blaise crowed to them, cackling.

They high-fived each other inside the safety of their hideout, and Harry did his best to appear engaged, overcompensating by bumping shoulders with Blaise, and mocking the Twins—

"_We'll make your lives hell here at Hogwarts—ask your buddy, Flint_. Shut up!"

Blaise and Theodore laughed and they cheered.

Harry was subdued for the rest of the day, his mind still on Quirrell and what had happened the evening before. His stomach churned as he thought back on it, and he shook his head, tuning in to the speculation at what was going to happen that Saturday at the table—

"It's over, mate—I mean, listen, I respect Flint trying not to disrespect the Hufflepuffs and all that, but we're going to embarrass them, that's the truth!" Pergerine was saying as he cut into his treacle tart with vigour.

Lucian grunted beside him, a group of girls leaning forward, hanging on to his very word like he was a prophet or something.

"The match is a bit of a formality, really."

Theodore was of a similar mind: "If I was Hufflepuff, I'd just forefeit—no, seriously!"

Blaise chipped in with his trademark charisma. "You know, the Weasleys didn't want to open a betting pool for this match—"

Harry choked on his laugh. "Legit?" he asked, wiping at his eye, slightly tear-stained, his cheeks hurting with pain.

Blaise nodded eagerly, shaking with laughter. "But I called them out on it—so, they kinda had no choice—"

"You think?!" Harry cackled, giving Blaise a slap around the back with a delighted grin.

"Yeah—so they opened the betting pool, and everyone was betting on Slytherin—so guess what I did to throw 'em off?"

"What?!"

"No, guess!"

Harry shrugged, twitching with excitement, and he run his hand through his hair, his grin very large and almost blinding. "I dunno—you bet a sickle on us or summin?"

Blaise snorted, leaning back in his sofa. "Nope—I bet a galleon on the 'Puffs."

Harry felt his jaw drop open.

Blaise laughed. "That was their reaction, as well—I told them I was feeling bad, you know, because they're basically broke now, after Slytherin vs Ravenclaw, you know—"

"For real?!"

"Yes, mate—I heard they had to get a galleon or three from Johnson, the Chaser, to pay me—"

"No way—" Harry guffawed.

"Yes way, mate!"

One person who didn't feel like the Quidditch Cup was a done and dusted affair was their Quidditch Captain. Flint was working them ridiculously hard, he'd somehow managed to rope Terrence into joining their practices, and the way he defended Harry, he suspected Flint had promised Terrence some coin if he got Harry in great shape against Cedric.

They practiced with three Keepers, instead of one, and four Beaters instead of two—and three Bludgers, instead of one, and it very quickly became the norm to limp to the Hospital Wing after practice instead of back to the Dungeons.

Thursday evening found Harry sipping some hot chocolate from the Kitchens in the Dungeons, watching as Malfoy mercilessly checkmated Theodore, proclaiming himself "king of chess!"

Pansy crooned, lunging at Malfoy's neck to give him a huge embrace and Harry spluttered, almost spitting out his drink in his amusement, choking and writhing with laughter at Malfoy's alarmed expression, helpless as Pansy came for him as Blaise slapped at his back, laughing himself, though admittedly a bit more resigned.

Greengrass and Davies rolled their eyes, focused on something, hissing to themselves, huddled on the ground just out of Harry's earshot.

"You're lucky Flint didn't manage to get the pitch tonight—"

Harry snorted. "He did—but apparently, Sprout went into a rage and demanded Flint give up one of the days for Hufflepuff—"

"What? Why?"

Harry shrugged, taking another swig of his chocolate milk, sighing and saying a word of thanks that he wasn't spending the evening frantically pulling his broom away from rushing Bludgers zooming towards him, speeding with nothing but bad intentions.

"Something about Hufflepuff should get a chance to at least give Slytherin a decent game!"

Blaise snorted. "Fat chance of that!"

It was a slow evening in the Dungeons.

Lucian and Pergerine, usually so loud in the Dungeons, were subdued, licking their wounds from the brutal practices Flint had been putting them through. Also, apparently, Barnaby Lee, a Slytherin seventh-year, had gone off on them both for their disregard for seventh-years that needed to study, transfiguring them into slugs until Flint managed to pester the Slytherin prefects enough to come and reverse the transfiguration as the Lee bloke stormed off.

Almost all the seventh-years were in the Library that night—especially now that the plea that the Head Boy had turned in to have curfew for the seventh-years and fifth-years extended by an hour and a half had been accepted.

So, it was with a start that Harry made out Ismelda sashaying into the Dungeons, wearing that simpering smile she always wore, walking like she'd just been appointed princess of England or whatnot.

Harry turned to Blaise, and made his thoughts known to his friend, and they snickered about it for a second or two and when Harry glanced up, Ismelda was standing over him, hands on her hips, and he yelped, jumping in the couch.

Her violet eyes glinted and she cackled at his reaction. Harry flushed, feeling more than seeing all the eyes of the first-years on him, and he gulped, trying to compose himself before Ismelda.

"What d'you want, Ismelda? Shouldn't you be committing suicide in the Library right about now?"

Blaise chortled right next to Harry, and even when Ismelda turned her unimpressed gaze on him, Blaise kept on laughing.

Ismelda sneered, her smile distorted, and her eyes dark and hard, flinty. And she turned to look at Harry again, who squirmed in his seat.

"Follow me, Potter—Quirrell told me to come pick you up for your detention!"

"Detention?" Blaise asked with a frown. But Ismelda had already turned around and was making her way out of the Dungeons.

Harry sighed, pushing himself to his seat. "Yeah…" He scowled. He'd totally forgotten about that.

There was still light out oddly enough. There was a purple glow in the sky, and hardly any wind to speak of, and Harry jutted his lip out, pleased with himself for leaving his cloak behind in the Dungeons.

"So…" Harry said, a bit uncomfortable at the silence. Unless you counted Ismelda humming to herself, broken up occasionally by her cackling—which Harry most certainly didn't, and he'd prefer it stopped! "… I didn't know you knew Quirrell…"

She didn't respond for a while, just walking on, and she slinked the corner up to the Ground Floor and Harry tugged at his hem, flushing in his embarrassment at just getting blown off like that.

"What makes you think "I know Quirrell"…"

"He sent you to come pick me up—I figure he wouldn't just send anybody…"

Ismelda snorted. "I had a "detention" with him before yours…" She turned her neck towards him, her smirk devious and she wagged a brow at Harry. "You know what I mean?" And she walked on, her pace faster still and Harry sped up to catch her.

"What d'you mean? How should I know what you mean—"

"What d'you think I mean?"

Harry blanched, drawing to a stop and he was forced to run to catch up to her, throwing his arms up in frustration. "How did you become best friends with Merula—you're nothing like her!"

Ismelda threw her head back and laughed, a cackling, scratching, crawling sound and Harry shivered at hearing it.

"I ask myself the same question every day…"

They stepped off the staircase to the second floor but Ismelda went off, pulling Harry to the left, and Harry brandished his hand in confusion. "But Quirrell's office is back there…"

Unsurprisingly, she didn't even respond.

"Bloody maddening witch!" Harry muttered under his breath, breaking into a run after her. It was insane how she managed to walk like she was jogging. As Harry thought that, she cocked her neck about—

"Hurry up, Potter! I don't have all night, you know—I've got stuff to do—"

"Oh, really—like what? You haven't even been studying much—"

Ismelda cackled, a loud, echoing, truly amused laugh and Harry run a hand through his hair, feeling his hairs stand up erect and he pulled at his robe, suddenly feeling hot.

"I don't need those stupid exams—I'm going to pass the exam I need to pass tonight, you just wait!"

Harry drew to a stop, frowning in confusion, wondering what she meant.

They slinked the corner, and Harry was glancing about with a deep scowl, deeply uneasy for some reason but he couldn't quite figure it out—

"Hurry it up—Merlin, what _he_ sees in you I don't even know—"

"Isn't this the Forbidden Corridor?" Harry asked as he finally caught up to Ismelda, never mind that Ismelda had stopped in front of a door, giving his head a strong shake to get rid of the memory of three slobbering heads.

She smirked at him, turning her head to look at him sideways. "I suppose there is a brain in there, somehow…" She reached out for the handle—

And Harry grabbed her hand, feeling his heart start to pick up, and his palms turn clammy. "What're you doing?!"

She turned her eyes to his arm very slowly and turned slowly to look at his face. "Get! Your! Filthy! Hands! Off! Of! Me! NOW!" Her glare was murderous, and Harry quickly obeyed her, lifting his arms up to calm her down.

"I'm just saying, we're forbidden from going in there, aren't we?" Harry said, he turned his face away as his voice scratched and squeaked and he scowled as his nerves became quite apparent.

Ismelda must've caught that, as well, because her smirk was wicked and mocking. "Awwww—are you scared, Potter? I told Quirinus it would be too much for you—"

Harry felt his jaw tighten and his body turn rigid. "It's not! I was just… telling you—in case you didn't know! I've already been in there, actually!" he said, his voice sounding way more confident than he was feeling in actuality.

Ismelda blinked at him, and her face pulled back as if on a string, but really quickly but Harry still caught it and grinned at her surprise. "Bet you haven't done that?!"

She chuckled at him, jutting out her bottom lip, faintly impressed, it seemed. "Well then, this should be no problem for you—"

"What is this?!"

Ismelda rolled her eyes, heaving a great sigh like what she was about to do was going to cause her great effort.

"Fine! Listen up—Quirinus wants to test you, see how much you've learnt in all those "detentions" you've been having with him—"

"Wait—how d'_you_ know about that?!"

Ismelda gave him a disgusted look, the way you'd regard a dirty sock or something. "What? You thought _you were the only one_ getting "detentions" from Quirinus—"

Harry felt his fists ball. "He said so—"

"Well, he lied to you, kiddo—"

"I don't believe you—"

Ismelda shrugged. "Believe what you want—the point is: Quirinus is waiting for you at the end of this Underground Chamber—"

"Underground Chamber?"

Ismelda growled. "I thought you said you'd already been in there?!"

"Yeah…" Harry said weakly, avoiding her scorching violet eyes.

"Then what's the issue?"

"Nuffin', nuffin'…"

Ismelda looked him up and down, and then gave a sneer, reaching for the handle to the door and pulled it open with a low creak, and low, rumbling growls met their ears. All three of the dog's noses stood up at once, even though their eyes were peeled shut.

Harry made out a harp at it's feet, playing a soft tune that he could barely make out—

"Bloody hell!" Ismelda exclaimed, bringing a hand up to her face. "Forgot about your breath!"

Harry gulped, shuffling on his feet as Ismelda made forward, delicately manoeuvring her way around the paws of the three-headed dog, bent down and pulled the ring of the trapdoor, and it swung open—

"Alright, see you soon, I suppose—or maybe not…" She cackled madly, and as Harry watched, she hurled herself forward and disappeared underneath the trapdoor.

Harry gulped, taking a hesitant step forward, trying to avoid looking at the large frame of the dog but it's hot, smelly breath made it difficult and Harry was forced to push his way forward, squinting as the breath of the dog blew on him.

Suddenly, a rustle sounded and Harry realized the tune had stopped—

He whirled about, wide-eyed, and he made out a growl and the dog was twitching now, and Harry's heart suddenly began racing and he lurched forward in all his panic, his movements hurried and sluggish and inefficient and he scratched and clawed towards the trapdoor, and stared down—there was no bottom—

"Am I actually going to do this?!"

A bark sounded and Harry felt his body give a brutal start, and he scrambled forward, throwing his body through the hole and then cold, damp air slapped his face as he free-fell through the sky, and he was screaming, his legs spinning and twisting over his head and then—

Harry frowned, wiggling his buttocks on something soft and squishy, and he blinked and squinted in the darkness, trying to make out something, anything.

"ISMELDA! ISMELDA! You there?"

Harry leapt up, feeling his body shaking a little now in his panic—

He frowned, realizing that he couldn't move about freely, and now, he could make out tendrils, twisting and wrapping themselves around his legs and his ankles but a snap sounded and Harry breathed a sigh of relief, peeling the limp tendrils off his skin, stepping out of it.

"Lumos!"

He shined his wand all around, and the plant came into light now, wriggling and flailing and Harry frowned in confusion, backpedalling in his confusion, into a stone passageway, leading him away from the three-headed dog and that dreadful plant, the memory leaving him shuddering.

Harry frowned as he pushed further inside the passageway, he could hear water trickling down the walls, and he hastily pushed off the walls, his eyes going straight to the ceiling, but all he could make out was a rustling sound.

Suddenly, he came into a brightly lit chamber, the ceiling making an arch above him, and Harry tightened his grip on his wand, leading with it trained first as he walked forward.

He gasped as a whirring, buzzing sound went off and disappeared right after, whirling about, his wand trained and a spell on his lips—

He sighed, sagging in relief as he realized it was just a small, golden bird. He took a moment to gather his breath, making out more and more of the birds swarming the arched-ceiling, and at the end of the chamber was a large wooden door.

Harry frowned, his eyes focused on the birds, tight with suspicion. He wondered if they'd allow him to cross the passageway freely—

"Probably not—there's a reason you're here, innit, stupid birds…!"

Harry turned his back to the wooden door, creeping backwards slowly, his wand trained upwards at the bird, eyes watching for any sharp movement. His arm trembled, and he almost tripped over himself twice, convinced he'd be feeling claws and beaks scratching and pecking at him and soon, he'd shut his eyes shut and was backpedalling blindly until his back rammed into the wooden door.

He peeked through his one eye, his heart beating very fast—

The birds were still fluttering and whirring about close to the ceiling, in fact they didn't seem to have even been in any way shape or form been interested in Harry.

"Hmm…" Harry frowned suspiciously, turning around to face the wooden door.

He pulled the handle, but it refused to budge—

"Sodden Salazar—of course it's locked!" Harry huffed in frustration, running a hand through his hair.

"What now?!"

Harry growled, glaring at the birds fluttering and dancing high above him, the golden glow glinting off of them and Harry started—

"Bloody hell, those are keys!"

He frowned, feeling ridiculous for a moment but as he squinted and really focused on the birds, he made out the key just jutting out from the wings of the bird, and Harry cocked a brow, impressed by the magic—it had him beat for a good while, no question.

He began glancing around, figuring that if these were winged keys, surely there were broomsticks somewhere…

"Yes!"

Harry sprinted forward, a delighted smile on his face as he made out the broom resting against the wall—

He skidded to a stop, shaking his head in disbelief as he picked up the broomstick, only to find that it was only half of a broomstick, and as Harry glanced to the floor, he saw the other half staring back at him.

"Mate! What the actual fuck?!"

Harry huffed, flinging the broken broomstick to the ground, figuring it was as good as worthless to him now. He dragged his feet over to the wooden door again, banging on the door repeatedly, and then he tried pulling the handle, rougher still, harder still, but it wouldn't budge and he was kicking at the door—

And he gave a roar of indignation, backing away from the wooden door. He glared at the door, and then up at the winged keys high above him and the glow emitting from them just irritated him and he scowled, wondering just what spell he could use to cause them some pain, harm—

He stopped suddenly, a smile coming to him.

"_Alohomora_…"

Harry slumped as the door still refused to budge, the smile dropping off his face and he blew from his mouth, hitting his head against the wooden door repeatedly.

"This is stupid! _Alohomora_!" he screamed. The door stared back at him, refusing to give an inch.

"_Aberto_!"

Harry groaned, giving the wooden door a frustrated kick but he moaned, jumping on the spot as his toes began throbbing, and he scowled moodily.

"_Liberare_!"

Still, no budging, and Harry growled—

"_Open Sesame!"_

Harry cackled, clapping his hands in delight as the wooden door was ripped off it's hinges. Suddenly, a shadow descended over him and he jumped to the side as the door swung backwards, slamming into the ground and a huge thump sounded, shaking Harry to the core.

But the doorway stood free now, and Harry extended his feet over the door laying on the ground and stepped into a dark room, so dark he couldn't make anything.

He took two, three cautious steps forward and then stopped, frowning, realizing it was rather daft of him to surge into a dark room—

But then suddenly, the lights blared on and he brought his arms to cover his head to shield his eyes, and after a few seconds, he peeked out. His jaw dropped.

He was standing on the edge of a ginormous chessboard, and in front of him were black chessmen, taller than him by far—it wasn't even close, they were almost like Flint's height—and it seemed like they were made from black stone. On the other side of the board, white pieces faced him, faceless, Harry realized with a little shudder.

Harry gulped, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now—

He gasped, spying a door just behind the white pieces.

He took a step forward and then broke into a run, across the board, past the black pieces but then, suddenly, the white pawns clustered together, taking a step forward towards him, arms crossed against their buffed chests and Harry slowed down, taking a couple of hesitant steps back.

"I can't pass…?"

The pawns shook their head at him and it was crikey weird looking up at a stone, slapped on top of a stone body and he gulped, turning around to face the black pieces and they, too, had their arms crossed against the chest, and Harry didn't know why but he thought they looked angry, upset at him and he turned away, rather uncomfortable—

He yelped, taking several steps in alarm as a large stone arm suddenly swiped past him and his jaw dropped in shock, his eyes blinking repeatedly—

And then, to make matters worse, the board trembled as the pawns surged towards him, and Harry felt the board rumble again and he lost his balance, watching wide-eyed and his heart began beating wildly against his chest.

He gulped, pushing to his feet, holding his wand limply, his mind suddenly horribly blank—

"Uh… Uh… _Locomotor_ _Mortis_!"

Harry watched as the purple streak of light rushed into the pawn and came speeding back towards him and he ducked, wide-eyed as the pawn took yet another thunderous step and the board trembled again—

"_Locomotor Wibbly_!"

The orange beam of light of the Jelly-Leg Curse was just as useless and Harry gulped, wondering just what could work, his wand looking more and more useless as the pawns shuddered the chess board once again and his knees buckled—

"_Cadere mansio!"_

The Trip Jinx burst out of his wand and Harry's aim was perfect on the ground in front of the stone pawn, and as the pawn took another robotic step forward, his feet pulled back and he lost his balance, falling sprawled against the ground, and he lay slumped against the ground, the board thundering and shaking mercilessly and Harry lost his balance falling onto his bottom, his head falling back.

He scrambled to his feet in his panic but he paused, blinking in confusion at the sight that met him. The white pawns, all of them, now lay slumped just two tiles away from him and they weren't moving.

Harry looked up from observing the pawns, still holding his wand limply and his arm shaking, pointed it at the last row of the white chess pieces but as Harry watched, they parted, going to stand off the board, and the king gave Harry a ridiculously low bow before he went, the door behind them swinging wide open.

Harry gulped, taking a cautious step forward, still rather confused at what was going on.

The black pieces watched him pass right past the white pieces, expressions still stony and not saying much but before Harry knew it, the door slammed shut behind him and he found himself inside a new passageway, and he burst into a frantic run, trying to put as much distance between himself as that chessboard as possible.

Yet another door stopped him, and Harry took a minute or three to gather his breath, wiping his clammy palms over his robes.

He gagged as he pushed into the next room, his hand flying straight to his nose, his eyes watering as he made out a troll knocked out flat on it's back, a pool of blood trickling out of its head.

Harry gulped, pulling his robe over his nose, carefully stepping over the legs of the troll, and he rushed towards the next door, shutting it behind him and drinking in the air desperately, panting and gasping desperately.

He took his time turning around, hugging the wooden door, his back to the room—he didn't want to know what the next obstacle was, his knees were shaking, his head was spinning and whirring, and his stomach was a puddle of nerves, and his mouth was dry as his eyes twitched continuously.

Harry turned around with a sigh, his eyes still shut and then he pried them open—but he had little to fear, there was a table in front of him, with seven different bottles arranged in a line on the table.

He stepped forward, giving a huge sigh of relief—"Getting a break, 'bout time—"

But then, suddenly, a fire sprang up behind him in the doorway, an odd, crackling purple fire and in front of him, behind the table, black wisps of smoke flickered up from the ground, growing into a thin flame, trapping Harry in the middle with the table with the bottles above it.

Harry sighed. "Brilliant. Effing brilliant!"

He stood there, sulking for a good while before he finally stood upright, and began glancing around, wondering how he was going to get out of this one.

His eyes trailed over the bottles, some were pink, one was orange, one was scarlet, some were silver, some were glowing golden—

He run a hand through his hair. "I'm so screwed!" he moaned, running a hand over his face.

He grabbed his head, his teeth gritted as he thought over what spell to use. "No," he muttered, shaking his head, "don't even know how to do that one…"

"_Aqua Eructo_!"

A sprout of water erupted out of his wand and his wand jerked and Harry, alarmed and caught off guard, hurriedly pointed his wand towards the black tendrils of the fire keeping him prisoner—

And as he watched, smoke began dancing from where the black flames were and a little opening appeared in between the flames—

And Harry dashed through the opening before it could shut behind him and he was still running, his eyes shut, and he could feel his body pushing through an obstruction of some sort and then he opened his eyes.

He was on the other side—in the last chamber.

"I told you he'd make it…!"

Harry blinked at the scene before him.

Ismelda stood facing him, her arms crossed against her chest and she sneered at the sight of him, looking less than impressed—

"Took him long enough, Merlin!"

Quirrell, holding her in an embrace from behind her, chuckled, letting her go. He walked out from behind Ismelda, spreading his arms out at Harry, his smile wide, and his face wasn't twitchy. This was "detention Quirrell"!

"Welcome, Harry, you're right on time…"

"_Fulgari_!" Ismelda's eyes flashed wildly, her arm outstretched towards Harry, holding her wand tightly—

A white light cackled through the sky and Harry gasped, his body giving a rough shake as thick, luminous cords broke out over his arms and he gritted his teeth, struggling wildly, shaking and trying to wriggle free but it hardly had any effect—

"Excellent work, Ismelda—" And as Harry watched, Quirrell grabbed a hold of Ismelda's head, dipped his own head towards hers, and connected his lips to her.

"What the...?!" Ismelda sneered at him, obviously the shock and disgust was blatantly scrawled across his face, and Harry gave his head a shake, blinking rapidly—

Quirrell chuckled, a maniac glint in his eyes, and he turned away from Harry, and now, he could see an ornate mirror glinting just behind him, clapping his palms, and rubbing them excitedly.

"And now, to the main event—I've waited the whole year for this!"

* * *

**So, like I'm sure you can see, the story is very close to the end! **

**I want to know if the way I portrayed Harry falling for Quirrell is believable. I approached it from an angle where Harry, desperate to prove himself, didn't want to back down, and unknowingly got himself entangled in something way bigger than he could have ever imagined. Perhaps not the most Slytherin ever, true; speaking of which, I think my Harry is realistically Slytherin! True, he's NOT EVIL DARK, but I struggle to fathom how an eleven-year old would be EVIL DARK at the tender age of eleven. I get my inspiration from some of the Slytherins we see in the books and I, personally, think my Harry is socially more adept than canon! Harry.**

**What d'you guys think? **

**Also, I think I'll post the final chapter (Chapter 27) on Wednesday, so stay tuned for that; happy readings, bye-bye!**


	26. The Unexpected Examination

"What is this?" Harry gritted his teeth, the skin on his wrist blistering and he stopped his struggling.

"Shut up, Potter—"

"No—you shut up, Ismelda—you're just gutted I actually managed to get here—"

Ismelda burst out into laughter, loud, cackling laughter that drew Harry up short once he saw the tears streaming down her face.

"Oh, this is too cute—you actually think… You actually believe…" Ismelda laughed at him, fumbling for the wall to steady her—

"Shhh!" Quirrell whipped his neck back, his scowl severe, he was tapping his way around the mirror, muttering quietly to himself—

"I see the Stone… But where is it?" Quirrell growled, slinking around the back of the mirror.

He locked eyes with Ismelda, pleased to see that even she was thrown off by Quirrell's behaviour now. It seemed even she didn't know the full extent of what was going on.

Quirrell came back from the back off the mirror, his gaze hungry and intent into the mirror, his arms held out questioningly.

"I see the Stone… I'm presenting it to my Master—but where is it? Must I break the mirror? Is the Stone inside the mirror?"

Harry began struggling against the ropes again, his wrists turning hard and red but still he wriggled, and tried—

"Who's your master?"

"Shut up, Potter—"

"It was just a question, Ismelda, geesh—"

"Trust me, you of all people, don't want to know the answer—"

"You don't know that, so shut up—"

"Use the boy… Bring him…"

Harry blinked, his body giving a horrible shudder. The voice seemed to have come from Quirrell, himself—but it sounded nothing like his Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, scratchy and croaky.

"Yes, Potter—come here—"

"My Lord," Ismelda knelt before Quirrell, ducking her head. "Potter's just an incompetent boy—he's of no use to you—"

"Hold your jealously, Murk…"

Ismelda scowled, pushing to her feet and Quirrell turned around, gave his hand a clap and suddenly, the thick chords went limp, falling off his wrists, and Harry started forward, massaging his wrists morosely, a small scowl on his face.

Quirrell waved him closer, and Harry sniffed in the funny smell that was on him and he wrinkled his nose—

"Prove to me, Harry—that I haven't been wasting my time teaching you all those spells—"

"I won't let you down! What must I do?!" he said, smirking at Ismelda, who just scowled back, crossing her arms across her chest.

Quirrell put his arm around his shoulder, placing Harry in front of the mirror. "Look…" Quirrell urged him.

He looked.

His reflection stared back at him and he blinked in shock.

His hair stood up at all sorts of odd angles, his face was coated in dust and his eyes were droopy, and even the way he stood, made it quite blatant that he was truly knackered, almost hunched over.

But then, suddenly, his reflection cleared up and another Harry was staring back at him, replacing the previous Harry.

This Harry was taller, draped in Slytherin Quidditch robes, his smirk was confident and assured and he was holding the Quidditch Cup, surrounded by all of Slytherin looking up adoringly at him and Harry smirked at the sight—

"Well? What d'you see?"

"I've won the Quidditch Cup—does this thing tell the future?"

"I told you he was bloody useless—"

Quirrell growled, but Harry frowned, glancing back into the mirror—and it was his reflection staring back at him. But then, his reflection winked at him, it's hand going into Harry's pocket and it pulled out a blood-red stone and then wagged a brow at Harry and then placed it back into its pocket and then suddenly, his leg twitched, as something heavy dropped inside his pocket.

Quirrell growled, giving Harry a shove and he felt the Stone slap against his leg.

"Master—speak to me, what should I do?"

"Let me speak to him…

"Master!" Ismelda protested, sneering at Harry. "Potter doesn't know anything—"

"Let me speak to him…"

Harry was frowning, rooted to the spot, holding on to the wall for support, his feet buckling. He watched, breathless, as Quirrell turned his back to him and brought his hand up to unwrap his turban, and then the turban fell away—

Harry felt his eyes stretch his socket, and his mouth drop open.

Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head… there was a horrible face, pale, paler than Quirrell still, like snow, with blood-red eyes and nostrils—

"Harry Potter…" it whispered, and Harry fumbled for the wall, thinking to make a break for it but his feet refused to budge, refused to move and he glanced down, glaring at his disobedient feet, wondering if Ismelda had used that spell on his legs now—

"Look at what I've become—mere shadow and vapor. I experience life only when I share with another… Thankfully, there are always people willing to let me into their hearts and minds… I've lived a wretched life for about a decade now… But if you give me that Stone in your pocket… I will be able to create a body of my own… Why don't you give me the Stone?"

Harry stumbled, falling on his back—

"Don't be a fool!" the face snarled at him, suddenly resembling a snake. "Better save your own life… or you'll meet the same end as your parents… They died begging me for mercy—"

"LIAR!" Harry snarled suddenly, and he shot up to his feet, fisting his wand very tight, his chest rising up and down furiously.

"_Mucus ad Nauseam_!"

A green streak of light enveloped the face, much to Harry's delight but his delight quickly made way for confusion.

The evil face was smiling now.

"I suppose I should have expected this… Even Slytherin can't quell that rebellious spirit in your blood… I believed in you, you know, Harry… Qurinus here thought it a waste of time to teach you… But I saw something in you, resemblance to me… A Slytherin, curious, brimming… Why waste it all, Harry?" Quirrell was walking backwards now, and the face loomed bigger and larger still. "Give me the Stone!"

"NEVER! _PETRIFICUS TOTALUS_!" A white mist of light rushed out of his wand and Quirrell side-stepped the spell—

Harry sprang towards the flame door but the face screamed, "SEIZE HIM!"

And before Harry could blink, Quirrell's hand closed around his wrist and tugged at him. Harry yelled, his eyes watering immediately, and he felt his knees buckle as a searing hot pain rammed straight through his scar, and he blinked the tears away, gritting his teeth to ward of the pain, even biting his lips, and the taste of blood quickly made itself present.

"_Flipendo_!" Harry croaked out.

And then suddenly, Quirrell had let go of him. The pain in Harry's head, his scar lessened, and he blinked his eyes open, looking about wildly in confusion only to see Quirrell hunched in pain, looking at his blistering flingers in horror like he couldn't believe his eyes and had no clue what to —

Harry knew exactly what he had to do: "_Fracto Strata_!" The orange streak of light from the zap spell missed Quirrell, rushing into Ismelda, hovering behind Quirrell, looking on with great concern, and she massaged her arm with a scowl—

"SEIZE HIM!" the face kept on screaming, and Quirrell lunged again at Harry, who was quite unprepared for this, and Quirrell landed on top off him, strangling him, and Harry felt his sight blurring, and his scar burst open and he was choking and gasping and spluttering for air, tears free-falling down his face as pain gripped him—

"_Depulso_!"

And suddenly, the pain let up, and Harry blinked for a few seconds to gather himself.

Ismelda was cupping Quirrell's face, massaging his face, hissing something to him, but Quirrell didn't seem to hearing her, looking down at his own palms in absolute horror—they were burning, shiny before his eyes.

And then, suddenly, Ismelda's face twisted and she lifted her arm at Harry, her wand clasped in her palm, her teeth gritted—

"NO!"

Harry charged forward and Ismelda jumped to the side, alarmed, her hair wild and out of it's bun, and she had to hurriedly push it out of the way and Harry lunged for Quirrell's arm, clasping on as tightly as he could—

And a suddenly, a blue streak of light came barrelling for Harry, and he ducked instinctively, giving Quirrell a shove, hoping he'd get hit with the spell but when he glanced up, he saw the spell streak right past his face and dissipated into the wall.

Ismelda was cackling for some reason.

Harry didn't have time to find out for himself, he jumped onto Quirrell's hunching back and he cupped the man's face, feeling the pain in his head, his scar build up, it was tearing pain, and he could Quirrell shrieking and screaming as he tried to shake Harry off of him and "KILL HIM! KILL HIM!" kept on sounding—

And then he yelped as his body was flung across the room, close to the flames and he hurriedly pushed to his feet to look around, and arms closed around him and he spun around wildly, a spell on his lips—

"Merula?!"

Harry was blinking at her in shock, unable to believe his eyes. And then, she grabbed a hold of his shoulder and pushed him to the side, into the wall, and he glanced about hurriedly—

"NO!" he cried out, falling to his knees.

Merula was suspended in the air before Harry, her hands over her throat and she was kicking and flailing with her legs as Ismelda cackled at her from the ground—

And then, suddenly, Merula dropped back to the ground like a sack of potatoes and Harry rushed to her, pushing the hair out of her face, and she was choking and shuddering and she was spitting blood—

"Piss off, Barnaby—"

Harry whirled about with a frown.

And felt his jaw drop open. "Bloody—Merlin—What the?!"

Barnaby Lee, the spiky-haired, brown-haired bloke who had given it to his Beaters proper yesterday evening was saddled on top of Ismelda, pinning her arms to the ground and she wrestled back against him, rather weakly though, an odd, pleased glint in her eyes as she even arched her hips up against him—

But as Harry watched, a shadow, hunching and limping, descended over the them and Harry started forward, stretching his arm out for some reason—"LOOK OUT—BEHIND YOU!—"

But it was too late—

Quirrell made a sharp V-twirl with his wand and then suddenly, a flimsy, wisp of light stood alight at the top of his wand and Barnaby cocked his head at that exact moment to find out what Harry was screaming his head off about and the cord of light somehow sailed through the sky at Quirrell jerking his arm forward, it wrapped around Barnaby's neck, and then, Quirrell gave a sudden tug, looking demented with his eyes open wide and his sneer very pronounced—

Barnaby's head snapped horribly to the side, his head arched sideways for what seemed like forever, his eyes growing dim and his face growing ashen as Harry screamed as his body slumped on top of Ismelda, lifeless.

Quirrell stumbled forward, and he was quite a sight—his face was blistering a horrible red and he was bleeding freely from several wounds and gashes and pools of blood freely from his lips and he was even missing a few fingers—

"ARE YOU QUITE FINISHED, POTTER?" He spoke slowly, swaying where he stood, and it was obvious that it took quite an effort on his part to even stand and utter the words he was speaking.

"A WHOLE YEAR OF PLANNING, CAREFUL PLANNING—SERVERUS SUSPECTED ME ALL ALONG, AND THAT FOOL, DUMBLEDORE, ALL OF THEM I EVADED… AND YOU THINK I'LL BE THWARTED—BY AN ELEVEN YEAR OLD?!" His face twisted horribly, producing a downright terrifying image, with his burning face, some of it already charcoal black.

"WOULD YOU LIKE TO DEFY ME FURTHER—THE CHOICE IS YOURS—"

The choice wasn't quite Harry's—

"_Silencio_!"

Quirrell swiped up with his wand, but Merula hadn't been aiming for him, at all. Ismelda's glare was murderous as Merula pushed to her feet, coming to stand by Harry's shoulder—

Quirrell looked at both of them and his sneer was mocking. "You think…" He sneered at them, lifting his wand up again. "I'll give you one more chance, Potter—to stop this stupidity… My master likes you, you know… You don't have to die…"

Harry gulped, feeling his knees buckle and he closed his eyes, his teeth gritted to stop himself from thinking about it—

Merula screamed out and Harry blinked his eyes open, only to see flashes of light whizzing about the room, Merula's forehead was covered in a bead of sweat and her short, spiky hair bounced off her head as she weaved in and out of several lights—

It was so fast Harry could barely keep up: light, yellow, some of them were a mixture, green and black tendrils of light dancing around each other, and Merula was dancing for her life, her wand all but forgotten in her hand—

"_Crucio_!"

And Harry flinched at the hate, the power that radiated off that word and Merula was thrown off her feet, falling onto her back and her body writhed and she screamed in agony as Harry watched on, transfixed with horror.

Suddenly, Quirrell pulled back his wand, his eyes turning to Harry, who was gulping and trembling on the spot, his eyes going around the room. He saw saliva dripping out of Barnaby's mouth, soiling a seething Ismelda underneath him, who was trying and failing spectacularly to shove a lifeless Barnaby off of her.

Merula was quivering to Harry's side, shuddering and huddled in a ball, breaking into the quiet flicker and crackle of the fire behind them with her hiccups of tears.

Quirrell spread out his arms, walking towards Harry, who began backing up. And then, there was nowhere to run, the flames where to his back, and Quirrell stood right over him.

He sneered, and Harry closed his eyes, shaking his head at the bloody sight that was Quirrell. "Give! Me! The! Stone! NOW!"

Harry sighed, ducking his head.

He pried his eyes open and peeked to the side of Quirrell at Barnaby, still slumped and unmoving, saliva freely flowing from his mouth unto Ismelda's arm, much to her disgust—

Merula was still trembling and sobbing on the ground, hugging herself—

Harry glanced away with a wince, shoved his hand inside his pocket and pulled out the ruby red Stone into Quirrell's outstretched palm.

Quirrell grinned, his teeth adding to the horrifying image that was him and the man raised the Stone into the sky. "AT LAST! AFTER TEN LONG YEARS—LORD VOLDEMORT SHALL RETURN—" And now, Quirrell looked down at Harry, his face, with blood streaming down, stretched into an amused smile. "—AND WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT IT? IT'S ALL THANKS TO HARRY POTTER—"

Harry didn't know what overtook him.

One second, he stood before a scarred man, his face blistered with bleeding wounds and scabs, whose head was thrown back as he laughed at his victory and then his fists balled up and then he was lowering into position, and then, he took off, pouncing—

He wrapped his legs around Quirrell's waist, fisting the man's cheeks and he even grabbed at the man's eyes and he shook his head stubbornly, defiantly, biting on his lips with every last bit of strength inside of him to fend off the pain that exploded in his head—

And with every scream Quirrell made Harry pressed his palm deeper into the man's face, and when he sank to his knees and finally to his stomach, he rolled, grappling with the man, refusing to let go, even when he began coughing and choking, his body spasming, still clasped tightly against Quirrell, smoke erupting around him and he couldn't see a thing, it was all wispy, dazed, woozy and he felt his body droop, his head was heavy and hurting and he groaned—

"Harry, Harry, please wake up…"

He was free-falling, and it was dark and darker and darker still and then it was pitch-black for Harry.

When it all cleared up for Harry, the walls were blindingly white and Harry frowned, perching his face on his palm as he glanced about—

He started as the smiling, bearded face of the Headmaster swam into view, hovering over him.

"Good afternoon, Harry!" Dumbledore said.

Harry just stared at him, unsure how he was supposed to act right now.

He sat up, focusing on the Headmaster.

Then, he gasped as it all came back to him. "Headmaster—I… that is to say, how did I get here?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Well, it's quite a tale, indeed—you see, as Headmaster of this prestigious institute, I have my ways of keeping on top of things—when some of my trinkets began whirring, I had to go take a look—"

"So, you brought me here?"

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Well, simply assisted—Merula Synde is a fierce witch, and she didn't quite fancy me helping her here—"

"Where is she?" Harry began glancing about, frowning.

"She was released yesterday evening—"

"And Barnaby? Is he—did he—"

The Headmaster gave him a soft smile, perhaps sensing what Harry wanted to ask but didn't dare ask. "Madam Pomfrey declared him perfectly healthy about half an hour ago—"

Harry gave a huge of relief, sagging into his pillow, wiping a hand over his face.

"How did it—I mean, Vol—I mean, You-Know-Who—"

"Say the name, Harry—fear of the name only increases fear of the man, and regardless of what horrible things Voldemort has done, he remains but a man—"

"Fine!" Harry took in a deep breath. The only person he knew who regularly referred to him as such was Merula. And she got quite a bit of stick for that, as well. "Voldemort then. How did he—I mean, merge with Quirrell?"

Dumbledore began stroking his beard, and he took a seat on his bed. "That's a tale for another day," Harry protested but Dumbledore just shook his head at him. "You're too young to know that, Harry—maybe some other day…"

Harry scowled sullenly, but decided to let it go. "What was he after? What was that Stone?"

"What I want to know is how you got down there, Harry… Especially when you knew it was forbidden—you could've died, Harry, you should've…"

Harry flushed at Dumbledore's twinkling, piercing electric blue eyes, shining intently at him and he gulped. "Well… you can ask anyone in Slytherin—"

"That won't be necessary, Harry!" Dumbledore was quick to lay Harry at ease. But still, he felt that Dumbledore didn't fully trust him, that there was some suspicion in the way he regarded Harry.

"Well… Ismelda came and collected me for a… an adventure—"

"And why would that be of any interest to you…?"

Harry stuttered. "She provoked me, said only a coward would back down—"

"Ahhh—so she manipulated you! I see…"

Harry fidgeted at Dumbledore's intent gaze, and then suddenly, the Headmaster clapped his hands. "Well, yes—the tale of the Stone. It's called the Sorcerer's Stone. Have you ever heard of it?" Harry shook his head, and he hadn't truthfully ever heard of it.

"Hmm. Well, it was created by my friend, Nicholas Flamel—have you heard of him?" Harry shook his head, flushing now as the Headmaster's eyes narrowed at him. "Well, anyhow—with the Stone, one can create the Elixir of Life—"

"So why did Voldemort want it?"

Dumbledore chuckled at Harry. "The Wizarding World believes—or dearly hopes—that Lord Voldemort died on Halloween 1981, but I've been saying for about a decade now that Voldemort isn't quite dead. And now, Harry, you know the truth, as well. He exists still, less than a man, yes, vapor and mist, but searching desperately for a way to come back—"

"And the Sorcerer's Stone would have brought him back?" But Harry didn't need Dumbledore's solemn nod, he remembered Quirrell's delight at having the Stone pressed into his palm.

He shuddered. "But why would Quirrell…?" He shook his head to get rid of the memory.

Dumbledore's smile was sympathetic. "Voldemort is very charismatic he has charmed hundreds of people into doing his bidding—I believe he did the same with Quirrell… He was never the same after meeting Voldemort—"

"Where is he now?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "He's dead—Voldemort has as little mercy for his followers as his enemies—he couldn't touch you, your mother died to save you, Harry, but Voldemort doesn't understand that, the precious power that is love. Her sacrifice left a mark, far above the physical, so pure, so loving; Quirrell, so tainted, greedy, wicked, sharing his soul with Voldemort could not afford to touch something so pure, marked by something so good."

Harry glanced down, his eyes suddenly heavy with tears. "I'm glad he died! What about Ismelda? Did she die, as well?" he asked through gritted teeth, glancing up into Dumbledore's startled face.

The Headmaster quickly rearranged his features.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "She managed to escape and has since fled the school along with Voldemort and nobody knows her whereabouts. A very precarious situation, but that is life with Voldemort."

"Why do so many people follow him then?"

Dumbledore sighed. He's very charismatic, Harry—like I've already said. And in times of war, it sometimes seems to be the safer, better option to side with him…"

"He'll be back soon, won't he?

Dumbledore sighed. "Who knows? Today, it was you stopping him, if the next person is up to the task—he might never return!"

Harry was silent, thinking over his words.

"Sir… I have some questions, sir—and I'd like you to answer them quite truthfully!"

Dumbledore cocked a brow at him, stroking his beard. "The truth—it's a wonderful and horrible thing, you know. Alas, as you have asked, I'll do the best I can. I ask only that you respect my decision not to answer a question if I think it's for the best…"

Harry frowned but figured he wouldn't get anything better than that.

"Why did you place me with the Dursleys?"

Dumbledore sighed, closing his eyes.

"I did what I had to, Harry—you must understand, it was dark times, several reports suggested that Voldemort had died, a rather incredible, if not impossible, feat for a one-year old. I didn't know if Voldemort was truly dead—what I did know was how you could possibly have survived the attack—"

"How?"

Dumbledore paused, heaving a huge sigh, his eyes looking in the distance, seemingly recalling disturbing images because as Harry watched, he seemed to age nearly half a century before his very eyes.

"I shouldn't be telling you this… Your mother's sacrifice, it could be extended by blood relatives—and your Aunt was your only blood relative still alive. So I took you there for your safety, there were still several of Voldemort's followers at large in those days, Harry—you were safe from them at your Aunt's, I had to do what was best for you… I owed it to your parents!"

Harry scowled, glancing away.

"Did that answer your question?" There were fat droplets of tears staining his glasses.

"Yes!" Harry ground out.

Dumbledore left soon after that, leaving Harry to wrestle with himself with the knowledge that Quirrell hadn't actually ever liked him. That he'd just been playing him the whole year, sentencing him to detention, teaching him spells—all to get in his good books.

And Ismelda—

He shuddered.

He didn't even know about her. Was she with Quirrell? He'd seen them sucking faces—but Merula used to say Ismelda hated blokes or something to that point.

But then again, Ismelda had tried to murder Merula so it's not like the spiky-haired girl knew Ismelda all that well.

He wondered if he'd ever ran into her again, what would happen—

"Pomfrey, please—be reasonable—"

"No, absolutely not!"

"Five minutes—five minutes is all I ask, I have to see with my very eyes—"

"Oh, alright!"

Harry sat up with a frown, wondering what was going on, only to see a familiar scraggly man burst into view.

"Harry!"

He tried for a winning smile but he didn't think he pulled it off too well. "Hi Moony…!"

The man looked quite ready to fling his arms around him but thankfully, he managed to hold himself back, a tense Harry saw.

He looked Harry up and down, shaking his head in wonder. "I could've lost you—I could've lost you!" And now, Harry could see that he was crying, his eyes were red and he was shaking, tears racking him as he gathered Harry in an embrace.

Suddenly, he pulled Harry away, and some of his tears were falling on Harry's arm. "Why, Harry—why did you even go after _him_, d'you not understand how powerful _he_ is—"

Harry wanted to explain that he hadn't, in fact, gone after Voldemort—because no, he was not that daft! And he did quite fancy staying alive, thank you very much.

But before he even got the chance, Pomfrey showed up. "Stop smothering my patient, Remus Lupin—OUT!"

* * *

After a couple of restless night of sleep, Pomfrey was finally letting him out of the Infirmary. She was giving him one last check-up, and as she was going through the motions, an impatient Harry made out Hagrid squeeze through the door.

The man looked entirely far too large to be allowed in there.

He seemed to be drooping and his eyes were tear-stained, as well, and Harry frowned, wondering what had gripped the school that everyone was crying. The man sniffed and assured Pomfrey that he'd be gone "in a jiffy, got yeh a present!"

He handed Harry a spiffing, leather-covered book, and Harry opened it curiously. He didn't really know Hagrd well, at all, so he wondered what it'd be. Well, except from the odd Slytherin joke that they made about the giant Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts in the Dungeons.

He felt his breath hitch as flipped the pages. It was full of wizarding photographs. His parents waved and smiled at him from every page, and Harry glanced up, finally overtaken by the crying disease that had gripped the rest of the school—

"D'yeh like it? Sent off owls ter all yer parents' old school friends, asking fer photos—figured yeh didn't have any…"

Harry couldn't speak, but the giant-man seemed to understand. Harry vowed right then and there never to make another joke about the man.

* * *

Harry was frowning in confusion as he finally, slinked into the dungeons, passing by Snape's office.

People were looking at him, pointing—which was nothing unusual—it was the snickering that perplexed him so. People slapped him on his back—

"Thanks, Potter!"

"Appreciate it, mate!"

"You're my hero!" That had been Zacharias Smith—and with that, Harry was certain he was missing something because he and Smith didn't get along, at all! Harry'd sent the boy to the Hospital Wing twice already and the boy regularly expressed his loathing of Harry, "that evil git!" whenever he got the chance.

The password to the Dungeons was still, "Bezoar" thankfully, and Harry took his first steps into the Dungeons for a long time.

The room suddenly hushed at the sight of him, and every Slytherin eye was focused on him.

He quickly picked out Flint, Lucian, Pergerine, the rest of the Team, Blaise, Theodore, Malfoy—

But then, the moment was gone, and everybody returned to their books, to their chess game, to their radio program, and Harry, frowning, made his way towards Blaise and Theodore, just outside the ball of first-years that had surrounded the table—

"What's up with everybody?" he asked, sinking into the free seat in the middle of Blaise and Theodore.

Blaise snorted. "Might have something to do with us losing to Hufflepuff last week—but you know—"

"Shitting Salazar—" Harry sat up suddenly, his eyes wide, he brought a hand to cover his head. He'd totally forgotten about the game "We lost?!"

Theodore nodded solemnly.

Draco suddenly appeared before him, a sneer before his face. "I always knew it was a mistake to have you on the Team—"

"Piss off, Malfoy, he was in the Hospital Wing—"

"I would have played through the pain—" Malfoy was saying, his chest jutted out proudly.

Blaise sneered at him. "Get on the Team first, mate."

Malfoy flushed, and took off to the dorms with a snarl. "You're a disgrace to Slytherin, Potter!" There were quite a few second and third-years close by and they turned to look at Harry, their expressions less than friendly and admiring like Harry had seen in that mirror.

He slumped in the couch. "Flint's remarkably calm about this…" As he said that, he sat up, peeking at Flint, observing him press his ears to the wireless and then get frustrated as something or the other failed to turn out the way it was supposed to and he began whacking the wireless in frustration and finally, he grabbed a hold of the wireless and flung it into the fireplace—

And Harry glanced away with a wince, teeth gritted.

Blaise was smirking at him. "Believe it or not—that is calm. You should've seen him after the match, he was talking about murdering you once they let you out of the Hospital Wing—"

"So why isn't he?"

"Because I _convinced_ him that would be a very, very bad idea…"

Blaise snorted next to him. "Convinced him—Is that what we're calling it now?!"

Harry glanced up into Merula's face and he felt his face stretching into a smile. "I'm happy to see you—"

"Me too, kiddo—don't scare me like that ever again, you hear me?" She sat beside him in the couch, hugging him tightly, and he embraced her back—

"So, are we ever going to get the 'why Harry Potter missed the match and caused Slytherin the Quidditch Cup?'"

Harry let go of Merula, slapping her arms away.

"What?! We lost the Quidditch Cup, as well?!"

Blaise sighed, looking dejected all of a sudden. He nodded. "Well, Ravenclaw play Gryffindor next week and if they win—which they probably will, Gryffindor probably won't even play well, anything to see a house that isn't Slytherin pick up the Cup, innit?"

Harry cupped his head in his hands, moaning and shaking his head.

"Chin up, Potter!" That was Barnaby Lee, a sharp, glaring red laceration on his neck staring back at Harry, and there was a sick, daunting bag under his left eye but apart from that, Harry thought he looked quite alright.

He most certainly couldn't link the image of the bloke standing before him with the chap who'd been sprawled on top of a magically-silenced Ismelda, drooling over her.

"At least, you're alive!"

* * *

**And that's basically the end! One last chapter and the story is done!**

**I really liked how I worked the Sorcerer's Stone angle, and inserting Ismelda in there and all the different characters from Hogwarts: A Mystery... it's always irritated me how several authors make the HP World look so small, and how quickly they seek out OC! characters.**

**D'you guys think I did the original justice with my story? Or is it an embarrassment to the Fanfic World? **

**An author in desperate need of coddling lol.**

**See you tomorrow for the finale!**


	27. Win Some, Lose Some

"Oh, for fuck's sake—just tell us already—"

"I've already told you, I can't!"

"Hogwash!"

"No way Dumbledore swore you to secrecy!" Harry shrugged at Blaise.

He gave himself a pat on the back as they trudged back to the Dungeons early for thinking up such a clever excuse for not telling anybody what had actually happened to land him in the Infirmary, after witnessing Ravenclaw absolutely slaughter the Lions.

They'd left before the celebrations could begin and Dumbledore would present Ravenclaw with the Quidditch Cup, Harry didn't have the stomach to watch it live but Flint was still there—

"I need to see it with my own eyes, make sure I'm not just having a horrible nightmare or something!"

Most of the Slytherins left with Harry, only the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch Team stayed behind to watch their dreams get absolutely shatted on—

"It was like someone tore my heart out of me fucking chest! Hurt like a motherfucker!" Flint raged in the Dungeons later that evening and Harry glanced away, his face pained.

"Bloody unfair, mate—had you been there, we'd have beaten Hufflepuff clean—"

"Fucking Diggory—and the fucking bastard was clapping, as well, you know, when Egwu lifted up the Cup—"

"Fucking prick!"

"Are we your best friends or not?" That was Blaise's latest tactic to get Harry to fess up to what had actually happened to put him in the Hospital Wing. For some reason, Merula's yarn that she'd been duelling Harry, and they'd both knocked each other out wasn't quite doing the trick anymore.

It probably had something to do with Dumbledore announcing that "Quirrell has been forced by circumstances to step down as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor—I will be overseeing the class for the examinations!"

"Yeah, of course—"

"Then tell us!" Blaise cried to Harry in the safety of their dormitories, looking quite frustrated with Harry but he shook his head at him.

"Can't, mate—legit, I'm not lying, Dumbledore sworn me to secrecy—"

"So that Merula thing is bull, innit?"

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it, realizing he was trapped. He slumped, giving a nod.

Blaise was frowning very hard, and you could see his brain cogs spinning and turning, trying to arrive at the answer and Harry cursed under his breath, almost wishing Blaise would be more like Theodore, who was inquisitive himself and certainly brilliant—but in another, less intrusive way than Blaise was.

"It's got summin to do with Quirrell suddenly leaving, doesn't it?"

Harry was caught off-guard by that, giving a horrible start—

"Aha! I knew it—"

"I can't tell you, I swear—"

"No, no—I believe you, this is good enough for me!"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and Blaise was true to his word, his pleased smile staying plastered in Harry's mind all through the examinations.

And then, before Harry knew it, he pushed the door to the Great Hall open and it was already full, he, Blaise and Theodore had been locked in a duel against Malfoy, his goons, Montague and Urquhart, leaving them behind in the dormitories, way worse off than they were—

The Hall was decked in Ravenclaw colours of blue and bronze and Harry sighed at the sight, and he ducked his head, walking very quickly to the Slytherin table to avoid the people who were standing up, even onto the bench—

And the Twins took it up a notch or five by standing onto their table, making faces at him. "Oi Potter—" One of the Twins said, his wand jabbed into his throat, amplifying his voice.

"How does it feel? Causing Slytherin the House Cup—"

"For the first time in seven years—"

"We take back everything we ever said about you—"

"You really are a hero—"

"On behalf of Hogwarts—"

"We love you!"

They burst into raucous laughter and the rest of the Great Hall joined in, shaking in with laughter and Harry was left shaking his head in dismay—

"Don't worry," Blaise was saying, "we'll get 'em next year!" he said with relish, his teeth gritted, and his eyes promising revenge.

Dumbledore showed up soon after that, and Harry had never been more pleased to see the Headmaster quell the noise and the babble and especially the Twins drumming their plates and utensils against their tables, making a tune and they watched, Lee Jordan did a back-flip and there was loud cheering and applause, it seemed everybody not wearing the green and silver was having a jolly good old time.

Dumbledore clapped his hands, and the din quietened almost immediately, and Harry was impressed, sharing a glance with Blaise, who, it seemed was on the same train of thought.

"Yet another year gone!" he began cheerfully, and even from his seat, Harry could see the fireworks exploding behind his glasses. "And I must request just a little bit more of patience from you before we can sink our teeth into out delicious feasts! As I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus:

"In fourth place, Gryffindor, with two hundred and seventy four points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and forty seven points; in second, Slytherin with four hundred and seventy points; and finally, with four hundred and ninety points, and the very first House other than House Slytherin to win the House Cup in seven years—HOUSE RAVENCLAW!"

An explosion of cheering suddenly erupted around the Great Hall, and Harry flinched, so loud was the noise, and he wasn't the only one, Theodore was covering his ears with his hands, and around the Slytherin table, several people looked to the table, the sight of tears streaming down Egwu's face in front of the Ravenclaw table too much to handle—

"We did it, Ravenclaw!" he screamed, and his voice carried around the whole Great Hall, and he didn't even need his wand to amplify his voice. "This is my gift to you, Ravenclaw, as I leave—work hard, play hard, study hard, and look what we can do?! Who said we can't beat the sodden Slytherin snakes, huh? I don't see no bloody green and silver banners around—I see the blue and bronze of the best House at Hogwarts—Come on, Ravenclaw—"

"EGWU! EGWU!" they cheered.

It was deafening, everybody was screaming themselves hoarsen everybody that wasn't Slytherin that is. Harry couldn't hear himself think. People suddenly rushed to Egwu, standing in the middle of the Hall, tears freely streaming down his face, it was a sickening sight—

"I'm gonna miss you, Hogwarts—fuck, I'll miss all of this! I love you, Ravenclaw—go bonkers tonight, full on bonkers!"

The din picked up yet again, and Egwu disappeared underneath all the people hugging him, he spotted the Weasley Twins jumping and dancing, he even spotted Weasley and his band of twerps, fucking Smith was in the mix as well, Cedric was way more reserved, chatting with some Asian girl a bit off the big ball of people—

"You know what? I'm not even vexed!" Merula said from directly across Harry. And she looked it, as well, nodding and smiling as she looked at the scenes. "They deserve this—they've only been trying for seven years." Then, she did something that made Harry's jaw drop.

She rose to her feet and began clapping, and she pointed at that red-haired girl that she'd snapped at in the corridors who'd tried to praise Harry after they'd beaten Ravenclaw. "Good on you, Tulip!" She whistled, cheering.

Harry glanced at Blaise and was pleased to see his bewilderment staring back at him. It got even barmier as the girl seemed to pick out Merula and before their very eyes, the Ravenclaw began running towards their table, her arms spread out in delight, her red hair bouncing on her head.

And then they were embracing each other tightly, crying and hopping on the spot—

"I'm so sorry—"

"No, I'm sorry!"

Dumbledore was beaming brightly from ahead of them, his arms spread out as he watched the school jumping and screaming itself hoarse, as if all of this had been planned—

And as Harry watched, Merula and the girl rushed out of the Great Hall giggling to each other, tears staining their faces but nobody seemed to have a care in the world about any of that.

That seemed to be the signal that Slytherins could leave because he saw Flint clamber out from the bench, nudge Lucian and Pergerine and jerk his head towards the door—

In minutes, Harry was one of the very few Slytherins remaining at the table, just watching the scenes playing out before him, all the other houses joined together, celebrating the downfall of Slytherin.

Finally, it was too much to bear, he glanced away, pushing to his feet.

"Hey, Blaise, Theodore, come with me to the Owlery, yeah? I need to send a letter."

"Yeah, sure—all we need to do is pack up tomorrow—"

"I'm all packed!" said Theodore.

Harry and Blaise shared a glance and Harry chuckled, realizing that Blaise, just like him, was nowhere near fully packed.

"Let's spend the night exploring."

"I'm down for sure."

It wasn't the best night of his life. But it was one filled with laughter as he and his two best friends at Hogwarts roamed the ancient corridors, thinking back to the fantastic year they'd had, and all the brilliant pranks they'd pulled. It was difficult to ignore all the noise and the racket that came from the Ravenclaw Tower as they partied on, and on, and on, till early morning but they managed.

They received their exam results, along with their standing in the class via owl the next morning at breakfast—

"Nice work, Theo!" Blaise said, giving their friend a slap on the back.

"Third place, very nice indeed, ey, Naughty Boy!"

Theodore grinned back at him, looking rather proud of himself. "Speak for yourself, Potter—fifth-place with hardly any studying!"

Harry laughed, shrugging. "What can I say?"

"And then there's Blaise," Theodore went on, shaking his head incredulously. "Tenth place, no studying, not even an ounce!" They burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?—I got second place, and I barely studied, as well!" Malfoy butted in.

They all gave him unimpressed glances.

"Clear off, Malfoy!"

Malfoy huffed, moving down the table to brag about his second-placed finish to Pansy and Montague, who seemed way more impressed and reacted accordingly.

"Honestly, what a moron—"

"Watch your language, Mr. Zabini!"

Snape was sharing out notes with a reminder not to use magic over the holidays and Blaise flushed.

Soon enough, breakfast was over—

"Oh, good Merlin—this is the last time I see you here at Hogwarts, Harry! Send me an Owl if you ever need anything, okay?!" Harry nodded at Merula and she hugged him tightly and introduced him to Tulip Karasu.

"Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you guys—"

"That's in the past, Harry!"

The girl laughed, a cheerful laugh, and her eyes twinkled merrily. "Yes, definitely in the past!" And the way they looked at each other, she was probably on to something.

And before Harry knew it, Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake, and he waved at the giant man but quickly regretted his decision when Hagrid gave him a crushing hug as they were boarding the Hogwarts Express—

"Hope yer' enjoying yer' present!"

Blaise's expression was still questioning and expectant of an explanation long after the train sped out of Scotland and Harry huffed—

"He's alright—got me a picture-book of my parents…" Blaise was far less impressed by that than Harry would've liked but at least he stopped looking at Harry so intently, finally relaxing in the carriage they'd managed to secure for themselves.

It was a very lazy train ride, spent chewing on Chocolate Frogs and napping, knackered from their late-night exploring the night before and before they knew it, they were pulling into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross Station.

Theodore stopped them from leaving so quickly.

"You'll write, right?"

Blaise just laughed. "You Naughty Boy!"

"Bye, Potter!" people called out as Harry began moving towards the gateway back to the Muggle world, where he'd told Remus to be waiting for him.

"You're the best, Harry!"

"Ravenclaw appreciates you!"

Blaise snorted. "We better win that House Cup next year!"

"Oh, we will!"

He and Blaise passed through the gateway together, Theodore had advised them against coming to see his family and Harry quickly got the hint.

Harry frowned, looking about for Moony but he couldn't suddenly see him—all he could see was a stunningly beautiful woman drumming her heel impatiently into the ground.

And as he watched, Blaise gave him a small, sad smile and went up to her and they exchanged a small kiss on the cheek and that was that, and Harry frowned at how formal it all was, Blaise standing to her side like this was perfectly normal, his hand stuffed into his pocket and his eyes easily avoiding Harry's.

"You must be Harry Potter, yes…?"

Harry nodded and she suddenly thrust her hand out at him, looking down at him and it was soft and smooth and Harry was floored for a moment but then he remembered the wizarding custom and bent his head down and kissed her hand.

"Perhaps there is something to you, Harry Potter…" were her parting words.

Blaise gave him a quick wink, as his mother grabbed a hold of his hand and then they disappeared before him with nothing but a soft crack.

He had to wait a couple of minutes for Moony but thankfully, the man showed up before Harry got too restless, from inside of a convenience store—

"Finally! Were you getting food?"

Moony shook his head at Harry. "Changing money!" Harry slumped in disappointment; he was quite hungry now, after all the sleeping he'd done on the train.

"D'you at least have food at home? I'm starving!"

"Harry, you're not coming home with me!"

That drew Harry up short. "Didn't you get the letter I sent you?"

Moony waved the letter at him. "This?!" He folded the parchment over to the right page—"Dear Moony, could you please come pick me up at King's Cross, I would like to get closer to you, so I want to spend the summer at your place. See you. Love, Harry!"

"What's the issue?" Harry asked at Moony's incredulous face.

"I can't just—You have guardians, Harry, that's kidnapping—"

"They won't care!" And Harry's scowl was more about gutted his tone was about that fact, not about the fact in particular.

"So what? Just suddenly go and live with some bloke—"

"You're not just some bloke!" Harry said fiercely. "You were one of my father's best friends—and forgive me, if I thought you'd like the chance to spend the summer with the son of your best friend. My mistake!"

Harry stormed off, or tried to, Moony grabbed his arm before he could get too far, and his glistening eyes was clear for him to see—

"It's not that I don't want—Merlin, there's nothing I want more—"

"Then what's the fucking issue?" Harry wiped at his eyes.

"I can't just—We can't just—Harry, there are rules—"

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure—"

"Harry, listen! Just go back to Privet Drive, to your guardians, and later this summer, I'll arrange to come pick you up so you can stay with me for a while! Is that alright?!"

But Harry snarled, taking off, and he stuck his arm out at a taxi—

"Go to Privet Drive, Harry!"

"Yeah, whatever, Moony!"

He wiped at his eyes as the taxi drove off with him in the backseat, a painful pang in his heart and he sniffed, frowning bitterly.

"Where to, laddie?"

"Anywhere _but_ Privet Drive Number Four, Surrey, thank you very much!"

* * *

**Alright, so that's the end of Book One. Stay tuned for Book Two**—**it'll be called Blood is Thicker Than Water as of right now.**

**Make sure to leave a comment, that's always inspiring! The more comments I get to read, the faster Book Two will probably be out!**

**Thank you for reading, and till the next time, PEACE!**


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